


Ocean Tides

by RedNGold



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anne is badass, Carlyle Sr A+ parenting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Lettie is badass, Love Confessions, M/M, Panic Attacks, Phillip Carlyle Needs a Hug, Phillip Carlyle Whump, Phillip has issues, Phineas just wants to help, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective P. T. Barnum, Singing, So much angst, but love too, what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14344248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedNGold/pseuds/RedNGold
Summary: Phillip deals with the consequences of setting up a meeting with the Queen and the Circus. His father is not a forgiving man. When Phillip Carlyle is forced to share a bunk bed on the boat with non other than P.T Barnum, on their way to England, Phillip struggles to keep himself in check. He has many secrets he would prefer to keep hidden. But in such close quarters with Barnum, can he hide them all?Forgive the summary, people, but I think y'all will like this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @Em3kitty for this beautiful cover amongst many others! What a difficult choice it was!


	2. Ocean Tides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame any and all typos on my cat...who lives across the ocean from me..
> 
> Yes..
> 
> Well, leave a review if you enjoy the story! 
> 
> BisouXxx

**Ocean Tides**

 

 

10:16 pm

 

In retrospect, it was a bad idea from the start.

 

Phillip doesn't know why he even thought informing his already disapproving parents of his intention to bring the Circus acts to meet the queen of England was going to bode well with them. Or telling them how much happier he is at the Circus than he ever was here. Not that it matters now. His father is yelling obscenities at him only inches away from his face, his mother standing idly by as her only son is verbally humiliated. After years and years of being shouted at, Phillip has learned to keep silent during the onslaught of painful words directed at him. He just hopes that it will not go any further than this, as it has numerous times in the past.

Phillip barely has time to finish this line of thought when his father tells him to take off his shirt.

Phillip's blood turn to ice, as his eyes widen is fear. He hesitates. His first mistake. The slap that follows sends him sprawling to the floor. His father's ring already forming a bruise on his cheekbone. Phillip barely registers his mother leaving him alone with her husband as he stands up and takes off his shirt with shaking fingers. He knows better than to try to reason with his father at this point. As he folds his vest, shirt and scarf, and deposes them on a nearby chair, his father leaves the room. Now Phillip is not deluded. He goes to stand in the center of the room, his back turned to the door, and waits, taking in the emptiness of this study room, bare but for a few chairs and a lit fireplace. Barely a minute passes by, and already he feels a cold sweat trickling down his forehead. Finally, after what seems like hours but are really only a few minutes, he hears the door open and close, familiar but dreaded footsteps, approaching him, an extra tap adding to them, stopping only a few inches behind him. He hears the creaking of leather. Phillip takes a deep, shaking breath, his hands curling into fists, knowing full well what is about to follow.

 

 

**Crack!**

 

One. Phillip carefully keeps quiet as the sharp leather belt makes its first contact with his back, jaw clenched, and valiantly continues holding his tongue for the next _five_ crescending strikes.

 

**Crack!**

 

Seven. A low hiss escapes him this time, as tears prickle at his eyes, but still he manages to keep his posture straight.

 

**Crack!**

 

Eight. Phillip can't help but gasp as the buckle tears at his already raw skin, a line of blood already forming above his shoulder blade. His second mistake. He winces at his own fragility, knowing his father disapproves of Phillip showing any weakness.

 

**Crack!**

 

Nine. This one is sharper, in answer to his lapse in decorum, catching Phillip right in the middle, leaving another trail of blood in its wake.

 

**Crack!**

 

Ten. A small whimper leaves his dry mouth as the buckle manages to hit the exact same spot.

But finally, it's over. It's always ten welts. He can finally-

 

 

 

**Crack!**

 

Phillip cries out in surprise and pain, feeling the warm liquid slide down his mutilated back.

 

**Crack!**

 

Before he has time to get over his shock, another, harsher, lash tears at his skin, and Phillip falls to his knees, tears falling from his wide eyes, mouth opened in a silent scream. Third mistake. After that, he loses count, and, for a short blissful period of time, consciousness.

 

-

 

He comes to with a pained moan, laying curled up on his side, distantly aware of something hard poking uncomfortably at his head. He must have been out only for a couple minutes, as he can still feel the fresh blood running down the side of his back. As he opens his eyes, Phillip is met with the cold, cruel eyes of his father looking down at him. The wooden cane stops its movements and, for the briefest moment, Phillip hopes they will leave it at that. Instead, his father moves around a shaking Phillip, to stop at his back, as if to admire his handiwork. The couple minutes of silence do nothing to ease Phillip's nerves. Suddenly, white searing pain courses through his back, as his father presses the cane into the open wounds. Tears start streaming down his face again, and it takes Phillip a moment to register that the piercing scream comes from him, as the world seems so distant. The cane eventually moves away but the pain lingers, quickening Phillip's breathing.

He is brought back to reality by his father's unforgiving voice, telling him to get on his knees.

Phillip's brain supplies him with a desperate, survival need to obey as he slowly, painfully, follows his father's order. His head hangs low, in shame as much as in fear, eyes closed . He flinches when the cane's hooked handle settles under his chin and lifts his head up. He opens his eyes by sheer force of will, knowing he has to. His father looks at him in disgust. Tells him he deserves it; deserves it for being a failure, deserves it for being so weak, for having no future, for running around with _freaks_ , for running around with men like P.T Barnum.

 

At the mention of his partner, friend, Phillip's already agitated heart can't help but give a little flutter.

 

Something must have shown in his red rimmed eyes, because the next moment the cane gains momentum and comes flying at an alarming speed towards his face. Phillip draws his hands up to protect himself, and cries out when the cane hits his right wrist, twisting it at an awkward angle. He tries to cradle it, but his father grabs it roughly, twisting it some more, drawing out a broken whimper from Phillip. Wrist still in hand, and the end of the cane in the other, he circles around Phillip, stopping once again at his back. In one fluid movement, the cane's handle hooks around Phillip's throat, tilting his head back enough for the ceiling to come into view, his position clearly citing his place. Air is becoming a strain to inhale, as the hard wood presses onto his Adam's apple. His father peers down at Phillip's terrified blue eyes, his own cold brown ones full of disdain, as if daring him to say anything. Phillip fearfully stays silent, save for his labored breathing. Minutes pass by, and finally his father breaks the silence by telling him that he is a pathetic excuse for a son and a disgrace to this family. With that statement, he unhooks the cane from its painful grip, and throws Phillip's wrist away with such force he loses his balance and ends up on his bruised side. His father bends down, and grabs a fistful of Phillip's pants over his thigh, ripping a hole in the fabric aggressively. He stands back up and makes his way to the fireplace, brandishing one of the rods nursing in the fire. He walks back to Phillip, and tells him that this is what happens when you play with fire; you get burned. Then he presses the rod onto Phillip's exposed thigh.

Phillip screams in agony, the scorching hot metal melting through his skin, leaving behind a putrid smell of burning flesh. Despite his abused throat, Phillip continues screaming himself raw until there is nothing left of his voice, only his tears.

His father walks away, leaving Phillip on the stone, blood stained floor.

Only when the door closes, even with his throat hurting at every swallow, an angry looking bruise already manifesting itself, does Phillip finally allow the sobs to wrack his battered body, echoing in the empty fire lit room.

He cries for the pain on his thigh and back, his wrist and throat. He chokes on tears for his father's painful words. He gasps for air for the truth in them, and in the end, he falls silent because he knows he deserves it.

 

 

-

 

 

5:51 am

 

The next day – or was it night, he can't tell - Phillip wakes up feeling cold. His first thought is of pain pain pain. He tries to move but his back is sending waves after waves of that pain. His thigh forbidding him to put any weight on it. Nevertheless he somehow manages to stand up, shrug on his shirt and vest, aware of his swollen wrist, tie his scarf around his thigh, and staggers out of the room. He looks out the window, and notices the sun has barely gone up. He feels like a stranger in his own home – or is it even his home anymore - limping quietly towards the main doors. He grabs his coat off the hanger, and finds his pocket watch. It is only a few minutes past 6 in the morning. Not feeling the need to inform his parents of his departure, Phillip simply opens the intimidating yet elegant door as silently as possible, steps out, and closes it with what feels like finality.

Instead of hailing a cab as he normally would, he decides to walk – limp - his way back to his apartment.

 

Once there, he proceeds to carefully peel off his clothing, wincing at the way his shirt sticks to his mutilated skin. Once bare of all but his undergarment, he goes to stand in front of his full-length mirror, stares a few seconds at his bruised and cut cheekbone, pivots, and almost gags at the gruesome sight; his back looks like it was involved in a bear fight, to which he lost. His thigh wears a nasty looking, but luckily not too profound, burn. His forearm just seems painted over. He steps into the bathroom and draws a warm bath, divesting himself of the last of his clothing. Stepping in, the contact with the water burns his gashes, but he musters through this comparatively small pain. As gently as he can, he scrubs off the dried blood, with his left hand only. He stays about half an hour, trying to relax his muscles. Without much success. He carefully steps out of the bathtub, noting the redness of the now cold water, and drains it. He searches through his cabinet for some cream to prevent infection. He has numerous bottles, and applies a generous amount. He wants to wrap his back in bandages, but with only his left hand to help him, he gives up pretty quickly, and settles for at least wrapping up his upper leg. He takes his time dressing up, struggling to put on a pair of pants, opting to put on a dark shirt in case his injuries start to bleed again, and adds a light scarf to cover his bruised throat. Now there is nothing he can do about his twisted wrist, or his face. Maybe he'll get lucky and find some concealer for his cheek in one of the vanity desks. He'll deal with it later, as he should start trekking to the circus. Again, he decides to walk – deciding he is not going to show up at the circus with a limp, so might as well get used to it - the fresh autumn morning air calming his nerves. At least a little bit.

 

 

-

 

 

9:03 am

 

When he finally reaches the door to the circus, and enters, he is alone. Everyone must still be having breakfast in the housing area, on the third floor. Well everyone except Barnum probably. He almost calls out his name, but decides against it. Instead he walks to the backstage, looks through three different vanities before finally finding some concealer. He sighs in relief. He quickly applies it to his cheekbone, amazed at its power of camouflage. Satisfied that it will be hidden well enough, he stuffs the makeup into his jacket and marches back to the main arena, all the while enjoying this sort of quiet that the Circus rarely has.

There is no show tonight, as they will be busy preparing for their escapade to England. Even though this trip has brought him nothing but misery before it has even started, Phillip can't bring himself to regret providing this opportunity for the Circus. For Barnum. He ignores the rapid flutter of his heart at the memory of Barnum's dazzling grin as he delivered the news of the Queen's invitation. He ignores it again as he recalls the sincere grateful look he received from the Ringmaster.

Instead, he hums to himself one of the show's songs, and is suddenly taken by a fit of tiredness. He realizes he hasn't slept much last night, as he went to his parent's house late in the evening. Another reason for his father to be mad. He shivers at the memories of the previous night. Not to mention the way he slept was not really the most restful sleep. He walks to the bleachers, and sits down a few rows up. He remembers what it felt like to watch the show for the first time. He told Barnum the night they first met that he never went to see it. That was a lie. He went twice actually. The first time out of morbid curiosity, and the second time, well, certainly not because he found Barnum's presence compelling. Deep in his memories, Phillip makes the mistake of leaning on the backrest, and immediately regrets it as pain shoots through his back. He whimpers, his left hand coming up to grip at his hair in a effort to distract the pain.

 

“Phillip?” He hears a familiar voice calling to him.

 

He looks up startled to see Barnum standing in the ring. He did not even hear him walk in.

 

“P.T, good morning.” Phillip's voice croaks. He hasn't spoken since last night. His throat still aching from his raw screaming. He notices Barnum lifting his eyebrows in surprise. At his voice or his face? Or maybe both.

 

“Everything all right there, Phil? I've been calling you for a minute.” He asks, a hint of worry adorning his otherwise joyful tone.

 

“Of course. I'm not quite yet awake is all.” Phillip replies quietly, not able to bring himself to talk with the same energetic vibe as Barnum's.

 

“Well, come down here and we can go get some coffee, what do you say?” Barnum grins at him in invitation.

 

“Coffee does sound amazing right about now.” He answers as he stands up, not quite managing to hold off a grimace at his soreness.

 

“Rough night?” asks Barnum casually, as he again notices Phillip's stiff composure.

 

Slight panic grips at Phillip's insides. He quickly calms himself thinking there is no way Barnum could possibly know.

 

“I'm fine.” He answers a bit too sharply, making Barnum frown slightly.

 

He descends the wooden stairs with as much grace as he can muster up, and together they make their way to Barnum's – and his, consequentially - office, where the coffee and their mugs are kept. As Barnum prepares the coffee, Phillip sits down at his boss' desk, in his own usual chair, and soon after Barnum hands him his mug, filled to the brim with coffee, the smell already soothing Phillip's senses. By force of habit, he reaches out with his right hand, flicking his wrist in preparation, only for the sharp pain of the movement to remind him of its current incapacity to do anything, much less hold a relatively heavy cup of morning nectar. Phillip's injured hand quickly lowers itself down, while his left comes up to take over. He slowly takes the proffered coffee, and Barnum sits down in front of him, both taking a sip at the same time. Phillip's coffee, he notes, is exactly how he likes it. Two sugars and a spot of milk. If Phillip feels another flutter in his heart, well, he'll just blame it on the intake of caffeine.

They both drink their morning cup in comfortable silence. Phillip is particularly grateful Barnum is not asking questions about-

 

“So Phillip, what happened to your hand?” Oh well. So much for that.

 

“I don't know what you mean.” He answers nonchalantly, taking another sip. He doesn't know why he said that. He can't very well hide his swollen hand, now can he. He should've just said he fell. Or slammed a door on it. Or even-

 

“Don't take me for a fool, Carlyle.” Answers Barnum, calling him by his family name in mock seriousness. “I know an injured hand when I see one. Heck, seeing yours, even a blind man would know.” He finishes with a teasing smile.

 

Phillip doesn't answer, only takes another sip of his coffee. What can he say, it's not like Barnum is going to ask to see his hand.

 

“Show me your hand, Phillip.” Damn. It's like he's reading his mind today.

 

“Why?” He asks petulantly, hoping to distract him. He knows it's in vain, seeing the look Barnum gives him.

 

“Because I said so. Now do I have to repeat myself?” His tone is gentle yet firm, similar to when he is talking to his daughters. It makes Phillip fidget in his seat.

He stretches his left, uninjured hand on the desk for Barnum to see. It's a desperate attempt, he knows, but what else can he do besides walking out.

Barnum doesn't seem impressed by his seemingly childish behavior, and clucks his tongue. He glares for another second at Phillip, before standing up and moving around the desk, Phillip's suspicious eyes following his every step. Phillip is reconsidering simply walking out, when too late, Barnum is already standing over him, one hand outstretched in a silent order. When Phillip still doesn't comply, even subtly trying to fold his arm under the other, Barnum reaches out, rapid as a snake yet soft as dove, and grabs Phillip's right arm in a loose hold.

 

“Barnum-!” He yelps. “Don't-”

 

Barnum doesn't pay him mind, as he slides Phillip's sleeve up and gasps. Phillip's entire forearm up to his nails is colored in dark blue and purple hues. His wrist still looks to be slightly off kilter, and of course, his hand is not at its normal size.

 

“Phil, what happened?” He asks softly, yet with a tone of alarm in his voice, as he carefully inspect the battered limb.

 

“Nothing. I just fell.” Phillip answers shortly. Barnum looks at him with blatant disbelief. Phillip sighs. Not even he would believe himself at this point. But he doesn't add a word.

 

“Phil, talk to me.” He starts. “If somebody did this to you..” He trails off.

 

Phillip doesn't want to talk about this. He doesn't want Barnum to know, because then he'll ask more questions, and he'll see his back, his thigh and all his scars, and he'll think of Phillip as nothing but a weak boy, useless and frail and-

 

“No one did this to me.” He snaps, cutting off his own thoughts, panic slowly creeping in. “A carriage door slammed itself on my arm.” He tries to take back his arm, but Barnum's soft grip is still that, a grip.

 

“Did it slam on your face too?” Retorts Barnum, an edge to his normally smooth voice.

 

Phillip stares at him blankly for a moment, then swiftly, if painfully, stands up, trying again to regain custody of his arm, to no avail.

 

“What I do in my free time is no concern of yours.” He grinds out. “I told you, a carriage door had a mishap last night while I was heading home, and my arm just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

He finally frees his arm – definitely not because Barnum relented his hold – yanks down his sleeve, effectively hiding the worst part of his injury, and walks angrily towards to door, ignoring Barnum as he calls him out softly. As he opens the door with more force than necessary, Barnum calls out his name again more sternly. This time he stops and turns around to face him, face stoic.

 

“You told me yesterday you were going to your parent's house that night.” He says, his tone neutral, yet matter-of-factually.

 

Phillip's eyes widen minituously and his body gives only a slight tremor, but he can see in Barnum's narrowing eyes that the small movements have been caught. He simply bids Barnum good day, and exits, cup of coffee forgotten.

 

 

-

 

 

10:28 am

 

Phillip is angry. Not at Barnum, no, but at himself. He should have just taken a sick day today. But he knows he can't. Or doesn't want to. He needs to distract himself from his thoughts, from the pain. Why couldn't Barnum just leave things well enough alone, for once.

Too busy silently reprimanding himself, Phillip doesn't quite pay attention to his surroundings, as he suddenly collides with a solid figure, making him stumble back with a surprised look.

His shock turns into a bright smile as he recognizes Anne Wheeler, with her shining eyes and soft messy curls, dressed in her training gear. In the short few weeks since he's joined the Circus family, he and Anne have struck a strong friendship, one he didn't even know he needed but would never trade for anything else.

 

“Phillip! I'm sorry, I wasn't looking ahead, are you alright?” Asks Anne with her pleasantly sweet voice.

 

“No no, that was my fault, Anne, forgive me.” He smiles genuinely at her, noting his voice has started to sound normal again. “Where are you off to on this fine morning?” He asks.

 

“Oh you know me, just going to take a morning swing on the Lyra.” She winks playfully. “Care to join me?”

 

Phillip wants to say yes, but at the same time he is just so tired. He politely declines, promising her a next time. Anne just smiles at him before resuming her stride, happy and carefree. Phillip turns to watch her go, giving her a questioning look as she pivots back to him, mouth opening to say something. Then closing, as her gaze falls to his right hand.

 

“What's wrong with your hand, Phillip?” She asks with a frown, walking back to him.

 

Phillip groans. Apparently, everyone's going to be overly observant today. He gives her the same story he gave Barnum. His gut twists in guilt as she seems more inclined to believe him.

 

“Does it hurt?” She asks, worried.

 

“Barely.” Lie.

 

“Liar.” She looks at him with a smirk.

 

“I'll be fine, Anne. It'll pass.” He replies as she takes his hand in hers and softly begins inspecting it.

 

“It's twisted.” She starts. “It needs to be reset.” She looks at him in sympathy. “Come on, I have a home made splinter somewhere in the back.”

 

“Anne, I don't need-”

 

“Phillip Carlyle, you come with me right now or I'm fetching Barnum.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

 

Phillip sighs, and follows her numbly to the backstage, where after a minute of so of throwing things around, Anne makes a small cry of triumph as she shows him the wooden splinter.

 

“When we first started aerobatics, W.D and I used to often twist our wrists and ankles.” She explains. “It got much less frequent over the years, but we still carry this in case.”

 

She asks for his arm, and, as opposed to Barnum, he diligently gives it to her. She slides up his sleeve and she, like Barnum, gasps at the sight. Thankfully, she doesn't comment any further. Instead she tells him to brace himself, as resetting the wrist might be a bit painful.

'A bit painful' turns out to be an understatement. His vision goes white for a couple seconds as she fixes his limb with professional accuracy, a surprised cry tearing itself uncomfortably from his throat. Anne hums as she rubs his throbbing wrist softly, proceeding to attach the splinter to it.

 

“There there.” She soothes. “It'll heal better now, trust me.”

 

He does, trust her. She reaches out to his face to wipe away a loose tear, much to Phillip's embarrassment. His face reddens, and Anne starts laughing, neither mocking nor hurtful. So he joins in. For a brief moment, Phillip forgets about his problems, and just enjoys the sound of his dear friend's infectious laughter.

 

 

-

 

 

6:40 pm

 

Phillip somehow manages to avoid Barnum for eight whole hours. He isn't as subtle as he wants to be however, much to the Circus inhabitants' amusement. All throughout the day they've asked him about his hand, Phillip answering with the same story every time, guilt rising.

Now once again, he narrowly escapes Barnum's path, ending up behind the curtain in an almost comical matter. Lettie, Charles, and W.D's laughs echo his childish attitude. He half heartily glares at them, while Lettie mock-whispers in Charles' ear something along the lines of “lovers' feud”. Phillip blushes and quickly turns back around, only to come face to face with – of course – Barnum himself, in full Ringmaster costume, hat and all. This only spurs on the three acts as they openly start laughing. Barnum ignores them in favor of Phillip.

 

“You've been avoiding me, Phillip.” He says in a teasing voice, which, to Phillip's mortification, only makes the trio in the back double over, laughing hysterically.

 

“Come on, we'll talk in the office.” Declares Barnum as he points towards the stairs with his infamous cane, making Phillip jump slightly. He is once again led around.

 

The other acts, also in their costume - having just finished their rehearsal with Barnum - notice Phillip and Barnum walking up the stairs together, and they snicker, calling out to Phillip asking him if their game of hide and seek is over.

 

“Don't you all have some packing to do?” Asks Barnum rhetorically, tapping his cane on the floor, making them scatter like flies. Phillip wishes he could join them, mockery be damned.

 

They enter the office, and, like this morning, sit down at their respective chairs, and Barnum places his top hat and cane on his desk, between them. Phillip's eyes flicker to the latter nervously. Barnum stares at him in silence, waiting for Phillip to start speaking. Which Phillip is in no hurry to do. Instead he looks anywhere but at his partner, anywhere but at the cane.

After five minutes of nothing but uncomfortable silence, Barnum sighs, and Phillip finally meets his eyes. That does it.

 

“Listen P.T.” He starts hesitantly. “I don't know what you expect me to say here.”

 

“How about the truth?” Barnum demands.

 

“I've told you already.” He states, trying and failing to sound confident about it.

 

Barnum sighs again, stands up, and leans on the desk, accidentally pushing the cane a little bit forward. Nonetheless, Phillip inhales sharply, eyes going wide. Barnum notices and swiftly straightens up.

 

“I don't understand why you are making such a big deal out if this.” Phillip tries to play the whole ordeal off, as Barnum makes his way around the desk, a repetition of this morning. “I think we have more pressing matters to..to..” He trails off as Barnum kneels in front of him, almost settling in between Phillip's spread legs.

 

His breath gets caught in his throat.

 

“Phillip.” Barnum says softly, putting a hand on Phillip's knee. “I need you to tell me when something like this happens. It concerns me as much as it concerns you.”

 

Phillip doesn't know why his heart starts beating faster. Phillip is feeling quite flustered at this point, and without thinking, loosens his scarf slightly, drawing Barnum's attention to it, who frowns.

 

“What in the world..” He whispers and reaches out with his other hand to where the angry color of Phillip's throat is visible.

 

Phillip pushes his chair away violently, making a scraping noise on the floor, and stands up so quickly he feels lightheaded. Barnum stands up as well while Phillip readjusts his scarf. They both stare at each other, Barnum with worry and confusion, and Phillip with panic and an urge to flee. To which he gives in. He makes a bee-line for the door, and is stopped this time not by Barnum's voice, but by his strong hand on his shoulder. His grip - not painful in itself but for the placement being right on one of the gashes - makes Phillip gasp in pain. Barnum lets go as if burned, his eyes wide with worry. Despite the blinding pain, Phillip practically runs out of their shared office, tears blurring his vision. He doesn't stop when Barnum calls after him, doesn't stop when Anne and Lettie call him, only stops when he reaches his apartment. He falls on his bed, and cries himself to sleep.

 

He wakes up several times during the night, whimpering in pain and regret.

 

 

-

 

 

7:45 am

 

He is woken up the next morning by a sharp knock on the door. He doesn't get up to answer it. The knocking continues. Then strangely enough turns into a stagatto pattern.

 

“Go away!” He yells out, already feeling frustrated, his voice carrying down the corridor leading to the entryway.

 

The knocking stops, much to Phillip's relief. A relief that only lasts a few seconds as instead he hears a key being inserted, the handle juggled, and the door creaking open. Fully awake now, Phillip tries to untangle himself from the sheets. He rapidly tries to find the shirt he discarded during the night. He hears footsteps coming near his bedroom, and freezes.

It's Barnum. Barnum, who doesn't even stop at his doorway, just strides in, and stops at the foot of Phillip's bed, not remotely looking uncomfortable by the situation. Phillip blinks at him, aware of his state of undress and grateful his tangled sheet is covering his back and front like a cocoon. Then:

 

“BARNUM!” He yells, indignant. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

 

Barnum seems unfazed, as he lifts an eyebrow.

 

“I'm here to pick you up. We're heading out to England today, remember?” He says it like it's the most normal thing in the world.

 

“I'm sorry? You-? What?” Phillip splutters. “You couldn't just wait for me at the Circus? And just- just how do you even have a key?” He demands angrily.

 

“Does it really matter?” Barnum responds innocently.

 

“YES IT MATTERS!” He bellows. “You can't just break in here while I sleep! Or anytime for that matter!”

 

“I didn't break in, Phillip.” He says calmly. “I had a key.” He smirks at Phillip's incredulous look. “Now. Enough time wasted. Get up, get dressed, and let's go.” He orders.

 

Phillip opens his mouth to object, to tell him he doesn't take orders from him in his own damn apartment. But in the end, he simply closes his mouth in resignation, too tired to argue with a man like P.T Barnum this early after waking up.

Still draped in his protective cotton shell, he sits up, and looks expectantly at his – ever so frustrating - partner, who cocks his head at him. Phillip sighs.

 

“Well? Get out of here, I'm going to take a shower.” He tells him, voice betraying his annoyance.

 

Barnum just chuckles, and leaves, probably to find coffee. Phillip sighs again, and heads to the bathroom. As he did yesterday, he quickly checks for any signs of infection, relieved when he finds non, and pleasantly surprised to see his skin already starting to knit itself back together. He takes off the rest of his clothes – including his splinter and bandages - and showers quickly, not putting it passed Barnum to suddenly barge in. He dries himself, applies the cream and the concealer, and dresses in record time, re-wrapping a clean bandage around his sore thigh. However, there is one problem; his splinter. He can't put it on himself. He hesitates to ask Barnum for help. He doesn't. Instead he shoves the splinter - and the cream - into his traveling case. The same traveling case that was already made three days prior. The aroma of coffee reaches his nose. He walks into his living room, not even shocked to see Barnum laying on the couch, cup of coffee in hand, reading today's paper. Phillip's heart clenches slightly at this picture of domesticity. As Phillip approaches, Barnum's attention focuses on him.

 

“That was quick.” He states with a smile. “Too excited for the boat ride, are you?”

 

Phillip doesn't know what to answer. First of all, no, he is most definitely not excited for the boat ride. He hates the thought of being in the middle of the ocean. He has his reasons. Second, is that how it's going to be, them just ignoring what happened yesterday? Because that it fine with Phillip. Perfectly fine even. He just can't shake the feeling of awkwardness.

 

“Sure.” He opts to answer instead. “But more importantly I wanted a cup of coffee.” He barely finishes his sentence when another cup is pushed in front of him.

 

He looks at Barnum neutrally, sits down on the opposite couch, and picks up the cup. He takes a tentative sip. Like yesterday, it's perfect. He doesn't bother to ask how Barnum found the ingredients. He's Barnum.

They talk about last minute details, Barnum chatting away excitedly, and finally, with both their cups emptied, make their way to the Circus, where they finish packing and close shop. Phillip still doesn't understand why Barnum came to – broke into – his apartment that morning.

 

 

-

 

 

4:48 pm

 

The boat is...not as small as Phillip imagined it would be. He was sure Barnum would spare as many expenses as he could on this trip. But apparently, no. It's not a luxurious boat, by any means, but it is spacious. They are not the only passengers either. At least fifty other people are stepping onto the boat.

 

They begin loading their luggage onto the boat. By they, Phillip means the others. He can't bring himself to step onto the plank that joins the dock to the boat. All that angry looking water right beneath it, sloshing and moving furiously, ready to swallow him if he falls-

 

“Phillip!” His thoughts are interrupted by Anne calling him from the boat's deck. He silently thanks her. “What are you still doing over there? It's almost time to leave!”

 

He swallows. The early autumn sunset having already obscured his vision. He can do this. He puts one foot on the wooden plank, not at all reassured by its wobbling. He grips the side rope with his left hand only, deepening his uneasiness. He tries to step forward, but the sound of water paralyzes him, his brain coming to a full stop. His gut twists and turns. He feels like he is falling without actually moving. His ears start to ring a high pitched noise, and he wants to scream to cover it. He can't do this. He begins to back away, ready to make up some botched up excuse when hands are suddenly steadying him by the shoulders. He doesn't even register the pain of the contact. A deep voice – whose is it, it sounds so familiar but Phillip can't focus enough to place it - hushes him soothingly, tells him it's going to be okay, to take it one step at a time, that's it, don't forget to breathe, in, and out, that's good Phillip, keep going, you're almost there, almost-

 

Phillip almost cries in relief as his feet touch the boat. Blood rushes back to his brain, senses find themselves, and suddenly he feels it. The pair of strong, known hands on his aching shoulders. He barely restrains from whimpering, but nonetheless jerks away from Barnum's otherwise reassuring hold. Their eyes meet. Barnum opens his mouth to say something. Whatever it is, Phillip is not there to hear it.

He doesn't know where to go, he just knows he has to keep moving, find a secluded place to safely regain his senses. He can't do that with Barnum always there, watching him with those beautiful hazel eyes of his. Phillip scolds himself for thinking that last part.

Luck seems to be on his side for once, as he runs into the captain, who helpfully supplies him with directions to his room and hands him the key for it. Phillip thanks the man with a small smile. The boat really is big...and intimidating. It takes him awhile to find number 214, but when he finally does, he enters with obvious relief. He knows he'll have to go back outside to find the others eventually and get his luggage off the deck, but for now he'll just sit down on the bunk, and rest his eyes for just a couple minutes. Maybe five minutes.

 

 

-

 

 

8:22 pm

 

He wakes up with a start, confused by the unfamiliar setting. As he recalls where he is and groans at his uncooperative limbs, he tells himself he should stop sleeping in his day clothing.

 

“How's the bed?” The playful voice causes Phillip to jump and sit upright, accidentally putting pressure on his right hand, making him hiss.

 

Barnum is at his side in one quick movement, kneeling by the bed, all traces of mirth gone as he carefully lifts Phillip's bad hand, easing the pressure. Phillip closes his eyes and breathes out shakily. And breathes in. And out again. He feels the soft yet burning touch of Barnum's hand on his. He forces himself to open his tired eyes.

 

“Where's your splinter, Phillip?” Asks Barnum, a hint of reprimand in his voice.

 

“It's Anne's.”

 

“That's not what I ask.”

 

Phillip turns his head to look at Barnum, and for a second looses himself in those deep hazel eyes. He mentally shakes himself before answering.

 

“It's in my case.” He moves to stand up. “I need to go get it-”

 

“I brought it here already.” Barnum interrupts. “Stay still for a second, will you?”

 

Barnum leans back, extends his free hand and pulls Phillip's case from under the small cabin desk. Phillip was too..worked up earlier to have paid attention to his cabin. It's fairly small, but not uncomfortably so. A wooden study desk and its chair sit by the door, next to it, a porthole. Another door leads to, Phillip assumes, the bathroom. The cabin is lit by two lanterns. The bunk bed is comfortable enough. Spacious enough for one person to toss and turn. As Phillip usually does. All in all it will do just fine for the next – hopefully only – ten days.

 

“Hey Phil?” His attention shifts back to Barnum. “What's the soothing cream for? It doesn't really help with bruises.” He says, holding up Phillip's pot of cream.

 

“Oh- I- It's-” He says intelligently. “It must have fallen. In. My case.” He finishes lamely, aware of how ridiculous it sounds.

 

Barnum just gives him an undecipherable look and fishes for the splinter instead. Phillip knows he should get angry with his partner for going through his luggage, but he's again to tired to argue. His misadventure on the plank sucked the energy – or whatever was left of it - right out of him. He blushes as he recalls Barnum's sturdy yet reassuring hands on his shoulders, guiding him to safety. He briefly imagines those same hands touching him under his clothes, caressing him and- stop. He chides himself for these thoughts. What is wrong with him?

 

“Here it is.” He vaguely hears Barnum saying.

 

The next second Barnum is working on Phillip's sleeve, pushing it up, once again inspecting the blueness of the forearm. He is humming quietly as he works, Phillip slowly relaxing at the soothing sound, the deep rumble of Barnum's vocal cords-

 

“So.” Barnum starts, pulling Phillip out of his reverie. “Care to tell me what that was on the plank?” He doesn't look up from his administration, doesn't see the way Phillip tenses. “Relax, Phil. You're tensing up again, it's not good for your arm.” He may not have seen it, but he felt it.

 

When Phillip doesn't answer, focusing instead on the wall in front of him, Barnum sighs. He finishes attaching the splinter to his wrist.

 

“Phil.” He says gently.

 

Phillip still refuses to look at him, earning another sigh from Barnum.

 

“Flip.” The use of this nickname is usually followed by Phillip reprimanding Barnum for using it, but not this time.

 

Suddenly, calloused fingers surround his chin, turning his head to face their owner. Barnum's expression is one of worry. Phillip hates himself for being the reason it's there.

 

“I want to help you, Flip.” He says in the softest voice. “But you need to let me in.” His tone seems so sincere, so inviting, and yet-

 

“Nothing happened, P.T.” He says in a tired voice. “I just got a little seasick. Leave it be.”

 

He sees Barnum is not remotely convinced, so he decides to quickly change the subject.

 

“Were you watching me sleep?” He asks, the question having actually been on his mind since he first registered Barnum's presence.

 

Barnum gives him a partially strained look due to the abrupt subject change, but nonetheless lets Phillip's now splintered hand go, and stands up with a somewhat forced smile.

 

“Of course not, Phillip. That would be _offensive and indecent_  of me.” Barnum answers with a smirk, proud of his own joke, while Phillip just stares at him in incredulity.

 

“I regret asking.” Phillip mutters, making Barnum chuckle. “Why were you even here to begin with, P.T?”

 

“Please Phillip, I think you can call me Phineas from now on. After all, we will be sharing a bed.” Barnum gestures at his own luggage, propped up against the desk – and how did Phillip not notice it before is beyond him.

 

Hold on - Phillip's brain short circuits, and his heart stops for a moment. What did he say-

 

“What did you say?” He chokes out, not sure if he heard correctly.

 

“Whoever is in charge of counting the number of beds per passenger is clearly in need of a holiday, if you ask me.”

 

“P.T what do you mean we'll be-” He pauses for no other reason than to let his brain try to absorb the information. “Sharing a bed?” He almost whispers the last three words.

 

“I told you how I've bunked everyone with a partner, to save up on expenses, haven't I?” Barnum asks rhetorically.

 

Phillip blinks owlishly at him. If it wasn't an actual good idea, Phillip would be mad – well, madder – at him for not telling him.

 

Scratch that. He _is_ mad.

 

“No you have not..” He replies anyway, his voice dripping with annoyance.

 

Barnum has the mind to look sheepish, at least.

 

“Naturally,” Barnum continues, “It was only logical for us to be paired together. We're already business partners, might as well be bunk partners.” He smiles brightly, as realization dawns on Phillip.

 

“That doesn't solve our current problem, P.T.” Phillip gestures at the single bed in the cabin.

 

“It's _Phineas_ , Phil.” Barnum admonishes. “And personally I don't find this to be a problem at all.” He pauses. “Does it bother you that much to sleep in the same bed as me?”

 

“N-No! Not at all!” Phillip splutters quickly. “I-It's just- No, not at all, it's fine. Perfectly fine.” He knows Barnum is teasing him by the quirk of his lips.

 

“All right then!” Exclaims Barnum. “I think we've both had an exhausting day. Are you ready to turn in soon?” He asks.

 

“Y-Yes. I'll just, um, go to the bathroom. To change.” Phillip hates how his voice shakes.

 

He stands up on wobbly legs, grabs his case, and heads to the bathroom, purposely ignoring Barnum's following eyes. As he closes the door behind him, he feels a twinge of annoyance as he notices the lack of a lock. He shuffles though his luggage, finding a pair of cotton pants and shirt. He catches the mirror reflection in the corner of his eye, and turns to stare at himself fully. He looks pale. His eyes look glassy. He must have been staring at himself for awhile, because he hears a knock on the door.

 

“Phillip, do you need any help with removing your shirt?” Barnum's voice calls out through the door.

 

“No!” He calls back a bit too quickly. “I'm fine, I've got it!”

 

Phillip doesn't hear him recede from the door for another minute. He decides to quickly change into his night clothes. In truth, he could use the help to get rid of his shirt. He doesn't know how he managed it the previous night, as he accomplished the feat in his sleep. But if he asks Barnum for help, his partner is bound to see his back, and the rest of his throat. A thought hits it then. There is no way he can hide his throat when he steps out of the bathroom. He can't wear a scarf, that will just make Barnum bombard him with more unwanted questions. Damn it.

Somehow, he successfully switches from his day clothes to his night ones, glad no one is there to watch him struggle. While already here he takes care of his personal hygiene business, and finally, when he can't delay the inevitable any longer, slowly steps out of his temporary safe place.

 

Barnum is there, sitting on the bed, waiting for him in nothing but loose pants. His gaze immediately draws to Phillip's throat, as if he was expecting it. Which he probably was. Both men let out a breath, for different reasons. Phillip tries hard not to blush – thankful one of the lanterns has already been blown out - at his partner's well toned chest, as Barnum gestures for him to come over. Phillip reluctantly moves, deposing his case by the desk, and sits down next to him, head hanging, all the while silently cursing the situation.

 

“Phillip.” He starts gravely. “We need to have a serious conversation. No lies, no deflecting, and no running away this time.”

 

Phillip doesn't answer. Doesn't look up. He's sick of not being able to face Barnum these past few days, but he can't help it.

 

“I'm really worried, Flip.” He continues. “You show up one morning, half your face covered in makeup, your arm mangled and blue beyond recognition, and every time I touch you, you flinch away like you've been burned. Then Anne tells me she had to _reset_ your wrist! She's worried about you too, Flip. So are the others.” His voice gets more and more agitated by the word.

 

Tears are threatening to fall from Phillip's eyes. He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to talk about this, with Barnum of all people. Barnum, whom he admires and respects, always strong and confident, full of joy and determination. Everything Phillip is not.

 

“I've given you some time to open up to me. To accept my help of your own free will. But you keep lying about what happened and running away from me. I can't-” His voice cracks. “I can't help you get better like this, Flip.”

 

Hearing the pain in Barnum's voice, Phillip looks up at him, sees his eyes shining with something. Anger? Frustration? Sadness? Something else?

 

“What do you care?” Phillip blurts out, surprising himself.

 

“You have no idea how much I- we care about you, Phillip.” He answers after a moment's pause, not even a small hint of teasing.

 

Phillip catches the slip, but makes nothing of it. He makes nothing of the look Barnum gives him either. After all, it is foolish to hope. Hope for what?

 

“P.T-”

 

“Phineas.”

 

“Phineas,” He starts, looking down again, “You don't understand..” He trails off.

 

Barnum slowly cups his uninjured cheek, their eyes meeting.

 

“Then make me.” He says softly.

 

For a moment, Phillip wants to tell him everything. To tell him how scared of his father he is, how pathetic and useless he feels all the time. To ask for his help instead of turning to the bottle. He wants to accept Barnum's shoulder to cry on, to be embraced by him and never let go. At that very vulnerable moment, he wants to feel the other man's lips pressed against his own.

 

Phillip doesn't notice how he's leaned towards Phineas – when did he start calling him that in his head - until he can feel the warm breath against his flushed face. A whispered 'Phil' jolts him back to reality, and he jumps away so fast it startles Phineas as well. The moment is broken.

 

“We-” Phillip coughs in his hand. “We should head to sleep.”

 

“Phil-”

 

“Please, Phineas.” His voice shaking slightly. “I just- I just want to go to sleep. We can- We can talk tomorrow, yeah?” He tries to give a small smile, but it just comes out twisted.

 

Phineas sighs.

 

“This conversation is not finished, Phillip. Tomorrow I am not letting you out of this cabin until you tell me what happened to you.” He promises sternly.

 

Phillip believes him. He nods, and fumbles his way to the side of the bed that faces the wall. He feels smaller this way, like he can hide himself from the world. Or in this case, from Phineas. The man is question doesn't object, and settles in next to him, blowing out the remaining lantern, and turning on his side to face the center of the bed. The only remaining source of light comes from the porthole, the moon shining its splendor into their cabin floor.

Unfortunately for Phillip, a dilemma arises. If he sleeps facing the wall, it permits him to isolate himself from Phineas, creating somewhat of a personal bubble. However, that would mean potentially hurting his bad arm further by rolling on it, and exposing his back to Phineas. His back who might start bleeding at any given moment. On the other hand, if he sleeps facing Phineas instead, his back is hidden, and his arm is safe from further harm. The bad side of this is exactly this; he would sleep facing Phineas. Naturally, sleeping on his back is out of the equation for obvious reasons.

In the end, he chooses to face Phineas, therefore conserving what little privacy of his shame he has left. As in turns out, they only have a few inches separating them, much to Phillip's sinking heart. Or is it just fluttering again?

Phillip's eyes are closed, but he can practically feel Phineas' burning through him. So he opens his own resigned one. He was right. He is still momentarily startled to see the depth of emotion laying in those hazel orbs, due to the moon's soft glow. They stare at each other in silence, the soft sound of waves doing nothing to ease Phillip's unease. As if sensing his distress, Phineas' hand comes to settle in his hair, massaging the scalp softly, effectively taking out some of his tension. Phillip's eyes flutter shut of their own accord. They refuse to reopen, even when that same hand slowly makes its way down Phillip's face, brushing his bruised cheek, leaving a trail of warmth. They remain firmly closed, even when that soothing hand reaches Phillip's discolored throat, caressing it tenderly. As a lover would, is the last coherent thought Phillip's brain supplies before sleep finally takes him in.

 

 

-

 

 

3:42 am

 

Phillip wakes up, feeling surprisingly more rested than he has in the last few days. He opens his weary eyes, noticing the dim light of the moon passing through the porthole. Still nighttime then. The second thing he notices is the weight on his midsection. He looks down, and freezes. There, draped on his ribs like a blanket, is Phineas' arm. A very warm and very comfortable blanket. Phillip just stares at it, and decides to just leave it be. For the sole reason of not disturbing Phineas' sleep, of course. He tries to fall back asleep himself, but quickly gives up on the idea, too awake and aware of the extra limb he's acquired during the night. Instead he stares at Phineas' sleeping face. Phillip takes his time admiring the Ringmaster's peaceful expression. The way his forehead is devoid of any worry lines. How his tussled hair falls over part of his face. The slight stubble on his chin. The strong outline of his jaw. Other than the time he walked in on Phineas asleep on his desk, surrounded by paperwork, Phillip thinks he's never seen his partner so relaxed. After all, a bed is a better resting place than a desk. His gaze falls on the man's lips and, like thunder, the events and thoughts of the previous night come crashing back. He just narrowly stops himself from jumping back physically. His heartbeat flutters again - he must have that checked one day. He debates just closing his own eyes and wait for Phineas to wake up, but decides instead to watch him some more. He is aware of how questionable his decision is, but still, he can't help himself. Later, he'll blame it on his half asleep brain. For now, he'll just stare, not at all longingly. He doesn't know how much time passes, but his gaze never falters.

 

“Enjoying the view?” Phineas asks suddenly, voice deep with sleep and eyes still closed.

 

This time Phillip jumps back, startled and embarrassed at being caught.

 

“I- I was just- I wasn't-” Phillip flushes red as he knows he has no excuse, and closes his mouth, awaiting his reprimand, awaiting the angry and disgusted lash out that is sure to come.

 

But Phineas only laughs softly - the sound instantly easing Phillip - a deep rumble making its way past his lips. Those same lips Phillip has been staring at for God knows how long. When Phineas finally opens his eyes, there is no disgust or anger there, only mirth and that something else again Phillip still can't put his finger on. Phineas' – muscular - arm is still around him.

 

“How did you sleep?” Phineas asks, not moving his arm.

 

“Um-” Phillip replies, not able to concentrate _with that arm_ , which he could previously excuse its position due to sleep induced movement, but why is it still there _now_?

 

Phineas looks at him expectantly, raises an eyebrow, and finally follows Phillip's darting eyes to his midsection. He doesn't look alarmed, or even surprised. He just smirks. Then squeezes Phillip lightly, pulling him flush against him. Phillip's eyes widen as he swallows back a yelp, and his cheeks become almost crimson as he begins to feel the warmth radiating from Phineas' naked chest.

 

“What- What are you doing?” Phillip stammers.

 

“I told you yesterday I wasn't letting you out of bed until you talk to me.” Phineas answers simply.

 

Phillip tries to wrack his brain for a reply, anything to get him out of this..whatever this is.

 

“Cabin.” He blurts out.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You said cabin. Not bed.” He explains. “So technically I'm allowed to get out of bed.”

 

“Tough luck. I make the rules on this boat, and I say we're staying right here.”

 

“You're not the captain.” Phillip mutters.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I said you're not the captain!”

 

“Yet.”

 

Pause.

 

“What if I need to use the bathroom?”

 

“Do you need to use the bathroom?"

 

“Well not right now but-”

 

“Then I'm not letting you go.”

 

Phillip doesn't know why this last sentence makes him try to curl back in on himself, lowering his eyes. Phineas

 

apparently notices the movement, because his hand squeezes Phillip again.

 

“Hey hey. Look at me.” When Phillip doesn't, it earns him another squeeze. “Phillip look at me, please.”

 

He looks up.

 

“No matter what you think, I'm not leaving you to suffer by yourself. I'm here now, so you're stuck with me.” He gives a small smile.

 

“Phineas I-” He chokes, too many emotions going though his head. “I want to tell you but-” He stops himself.

 

“But what, Flip?” Phineas encourages.

 

Phillip takes a deep breath.

 

“But then you'll think I'm weak and pathetic and I just can't bear for you to look at me like I'm nothing but a sniveling child and see how useless and damaged I truly am.” He exhales shakingly.

 

Phineas' hand, that was until now holding them together from the small of Phillip's back, slides back up, coming to rest on Phillip's face. His thumb stroking his younger partner's cheek, similar to a few hours ago.

 

“Phillip.” He starts softly. “Nothing you'll ever say will make me think that of you. None of it is even remotely true. You are an amazing young man, so brave and so beautiful. Never in my life have I met someone like you, Flip, and I doubt I ever will again. I will repeat this every day until it gets through your thick skull. Got it?” He ends with a small smile.

 

Phillip nods out of reflex, even though his heart is hammering in his chest. _Beautiful?_

 

“Now.” He continues. “Tell me what happened.”

 

Phillip sighs, a long and resigned sound.

 

“Ok.” He whispers, and swallows. “Ok.”

 

Phillip tells him how there was no carriage mishap, even though he already knew that. He explains to him how he wanted to tell his parents about their invitation from the Queen, thinking it would make them proud of him, despite them showing him nothing but contempt for years.

His voice shakes as he relates his father's slicing words. His jaw clenches as he recalls vocally the shape of his father's ring on his cheek. He shivers as he describes what his father did to him. The pain he felt as the cane hit his wrist, encircled his throat, enforced his vulnerability. Every detail.

Except two.

Phillip doesn't mention a single word about his back, about the pain he endured at the hand of his father's belt. Neither does he share the memory of being forever branded as a disappointment, a failure.

 

All throughout the retelling of the events, Phineas grows paler and paler, and looks about ready to be sick. Phillip expects him to back away, too disgusted to be near someone as pathetic as him. Instead, Phineas lowers Phillip's head, and deposits a long kiss atop his forehead.

This gesture seems to break open Phillip's remaining barriers, as tears start to fall freely from his eyes. Phineas holds him close as Phillip loses himself in broken sobs. He doesn't say a word, simply lets Phillip cry, kissing his forehead in a random yet frequent pattern. For this, Phillip is more grateful than he'll ever be able to say.

 

 

-

 

 

9:56 am

 

Phillip wakes up feeling cold. He doesn't even recall falling asleep again. He peers up, not expecting to see Phineas' face. He's right. The bed is empty, but for himself. He thinks Phineas must have run off as soon as he could. He's not surprised, yet his heart sinks the same. Then the bathroom doors opens.

 

“Phillip! You're awake.” Phineas calls out, a shirt now covering his upper body. “I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up, I really needed to use the facilities.” He says sheepishly.

 

Phillip's heart lurches. Phineas didn't run away from him. He kept his promise.

 

“'s fine.” He tries to keep his voice steady. “I'm- um- I'm just glad you're, you know, still here.” He finishes in a murmur.

 

Phineas hears him anyway, the words tugging painfully at his heart, and he walks over to Phillip, helping him stand up.

 

“Where else would I possibly want to be, Flip?” He says tenderly, eyes diving into Phillip's.

 

They're standing so close, breathing in each other's air, silent tension mounting. Phineas shifts his head slightly, leaning in, closer and closer-

 

“I'm going to take a shower.” Phillip deadpans, not giving Phineas any time to react by stepping around him, not stopping until he reaches the bathroom, leaning against the door until it closes behind him. Anxiety builds up, eating away at his heart.

 

“What am I doing? What's wrong with me?” He whispers to himself, pulling at his hair.

 

A knock on the door startles him.

 

“Phillip, do you need any help?” He asks. “You don't have to hide it from me anymore, remember?” Phineas calls out gently.

 

Oh but he does.

 

“N- No. I'll be fine.” He answers with fake confidence.

 

A pause.

 

“Do you want some coffee or some tea, then? I can go get some while you shower.”

 

“Yeah, that'd be great, thanks.”

 

Phillip waits to hear the cabin door open and close before finally relaxing. He undresses, once again removing the splinter - without having to worry about the trouble of having to put it back on - and steps into the shower. The spray hurts his back, but he wants to make sure his injuries are clean. Sometime during, he hears Phineas call out his return.

All done, he realizes he forgot the cream in his bag, which is currently laying besides the desk. The same desk Phineas is probably sitting at right now.

He gets dressed, deciding he'll get the cream discretely and undress again to apply it. He can't risk reminding Phineas of its existence by simply asking him to bring it over. No that won't do at all. He opens the door, and comes face to face with Phineas. Phineas, who is holding his soothing cream in his hand.

 

“Forgot something?” He asks, his tone betraying nothing. “You know, I'd thought it would make sense why you have a pot of skin soothing cream now, after you'd told me what really happened. But like I said last night, this,” He shakes the cream in emphasis, “Is still not helping your wrist, or your throat.”

 

Phillip pales, and clenches his jaw in rapid succession. Phineas looks at him like he's trying to decipher a rather complex enigma.

 

“Now,” He continues, “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

 

Phillip just stands there, fully dressed, but feeling naked under Phineas' scrutiny. He feels the familiar suffocating feeling of a panic attack clenching away at his insides. He needs to get out of here. He needs to-

 

“No.” He chokes out, seemingly out of breath. “Now if you'll excuse me-” He pushes his way past Phineas, who catches his good arm.

 

“Phillip-”

 

“Let me GO, Barnum!” Phillip yells, on the verge of fully panicking now.

 

Phineas lets go, startled at Phillip's sudden aggressiveness, or the professional use of his last name, or both. He instantly regrets it as Phillip opens their cabin door and runs off, splinter and cream discarded.

 

-

 

Phillip doesn't look back. Doesn't check to see if Phineas is running after him. He needs to be alone, without Phineas distracting him with- with whatever spell he's put Phillip under. So he runs. He runs until he can finally feel the fresh ocean air. He knows the sound of the waves will do nothing to alleviate his increased heart rate, quite the contrary in fact. Yet, he doesn't stop until he reaches a dead end. Through his haze he manages to make out the 'restricted area' sign hanging from the rope crossing out the zone. He goes over it anyway.

As it turns out, it's the perfect hiding place. There are quite a few wooden boxes stacked on each other, and Phillip slithers through, finding a small space for him to sit in. or more accurately, to fall in. the boxes don't obscure his view of the ocean however, and he just stares at it. Phillip doesn't know when he got up and leaned on the railing separating him from the cold water beneath him. The waves terrify him. He stays there, for god only knows how long. When the ocean becomes more agitated, sending cold water to splash at him, Phillip recoils with a jerk and sits back down, hugging his knees to his chest. He leans back against the wall, not giving a damn when his back protests. At that very moment he almost needs the pain to anchor him to reality. Not that it helps much. He is too lost in his own self depicting thoughts; his father's words coming back to haunt him, words all across his younger years. How he would never lead up to anything. How he was meant to be nothing but a failure. As he stares at the water, he can't help but recall his fear of it. When Phillip was only eight years old, his father had caught him holding the hand of another young boy – William - from his neighborhood. Phillip didn't mean anything by it, and had told his father how it just felt right. That had been a crucial mistake. His father brought him down to the lake and threw him in in anger. Phillip had not been taught how to swim, for the reason that 'no son of mine will be playing in dirty water'. Phillip had sworn to himself to never to make that mistake again. Being that close to a man was abnormal, and disgusting, and worthy of the greatest punishment, his father had yelled at him while he was struggling to keep himself from drowning in that lake. The pure terror he had felt in that moment ensured he'd never try again. If his father could see him now, he'd just give Phillip over to the unmerciful ocean, and leave him there this time. He suspects the only reason why he didn't die at the tender age of eight was because his mother had reluctantly intervened.

The wind is singing like an opera, creating high notes and whispering to him. To Phillip, it all sounds like the one word, one name, that flows through his troubled mind: Phineas.

Phineas, with his unwavering desire to help the hopeless, like Phillip. Phineas, whose charm captures the attention of everyone and everything no matter the place and time – truly the Greatest Showman in the world - Phillip's included. The man is always on his mind, his boisterous and cheerful laugh a remedy to any melancholy, his smiles always sending something akin to butterflies to his stomach. His eyes. His beautiful, mesmerizing eyes. Those same eyes that Phillip had looked straight into and lied. His self disgust send another wave of nausea through him. He'd lied to Phineas, again, right after he'd said those sweets words to Phillip.

“ _Where else would I possibly want to be?”_

Those words had pierced their way to his confused heart.

Alone at last with his thoughts, Phillip finally allows himself to face the truth; he wants Phineas. He wants all of him. For him to be Phillip's only, and to be Phineas' in return. He wants Phineas to love him, as he, Phillip Carlyle, loves Phineas Taylor Barnum.

The same Phineas who is happily married to a woman.

 

Phillip doesn't quite expect the next feeling following his epiphany: despair. Pure, mind wrecking despair. It's somewhat similar to his time on the plank. That reminds him that he is still surrounded by rocking water. He feels like it's filling it lungs. Hundreds of thoughts run into each other, hitting the inside of his skull like shards of glass. He brings up his hands, and presses his nails to the side of his head, specks of blood forming, too far gone to care if his right arm throbs for it. Then suddenly, the whirlwind of emotions stops for a millisecond. Instead it gives way to the same high pitched scream Phillip experienced the previous day. But this time, there are no hands or words to calm him down, and Phillip has no choice but to succumb to the piercing, endless shriek in his head.

 

 

-

 

 

 

7:04 pm

 

W.D mutters angry curses at the interminable cold rain hitting his face. He's been walking around the boat for hours now, looking for one specific person that has somehow gained the ability to turn invisible. There is no sign of Phillip Carlyle anywhere, for crying out loud. The only reason W.D is still even searching for him is because of Barnum:

W.D had been having lunch on the deck with Anne, Lettie, Charles and Constantine, when they saw their Ringmaster march out, looking around frantically. They called him over to ask if he needed help with something. He had simply asked if any of them had seen Phillip, to which they answered with the negative, and without another word had continued his fast trek to wherever he was going. They had shrugged and resumed their conversation. A couple hours later, they had crossed his path once more, and this time, seeing the expression of near panic sketched on his face, had forced him to tell them what was wrong. He had looked conflicted, and had just told them that he needed to find Phillip. They had looked at each other, and told Barnum they would help find him. The Ringmaster had looked at them with such intense gratefulness, that even W.D had been taken aback.

Now, hours later, W.D is starting to regret offering. He doesn't know what has gotten into Barnum, or Carlyle for that matter, and he doesn't particularly care. Although one of them is going to have to explain what is going on, and why he is bothering himself looking for that boy, in the harsh rain, on a cold windy night.

He must have been circling the exterior of the boat for the fiftieth time when he runs into Constantine. W.D asks him if he's had any luck finding the Carlyle boy. Constantine answers with a shake of his head, water droplets falling from his beard. They continue walking side by side, Constantine looking more than a little worried. W.D tries to reassure him by theorizing that it's probably nothing, perhaps just a little spat between partners. It does nothing to ease the frown on Constantine's tattooed face. In truth, W.D is getting a little bit worried himself. Just a little. They reach the restricted area, which W.D has already peered into and seen nothing but stacks of boxes. He didn't actually cross the rope when the sun was still visible, not wanting to cause problems with the already less than welcoming staff. Now however, he gets this nagging feeling that he should. So he does. He'll end up regretting not doing it earlier.

There sits Phillip, knees drawn up to his chest, glassy eyes looking straight ahead, almost unblinking if it wasn't for the rain. He is soaked to the bone.

 

“Carlyle?” He asks, surprise evident in his voice.

 

When Phillip doesn't answer, doesn't move a muscle, W.D calls Constantine over – whom he had told to wait in the authorized area.

 

“Carlyle!” W.D calls out, loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain and crushing waves, as Constantine steps into his line of view, gasping at the sight.

 

“Phillip? Are you ok?” Constantine asks, worried.

 

When Phillip still doesn't give any sign of awareness, both men crouch down to his level.

 

“Carlyle, you're starting to worry us here.” W.D says, even though they've passed that line already.

 

“Phillip. Hey.” Constantine snaps his fingers in front of his face. Nothing.

 

W.D decides to try the physical approach, and puts a hand on Phillip's shoulder.

 

Phillip blinks, and screams.

 

-

 

 

W.D and Constantine flinch back, shocked and startled.

 

“Get Barnum!” W.D has to yell to be heard over Phillip's blood curling scream and the sound of heavy rain hitting the boards.

 

Constantine nods and runs off to find the Ringmaster.

 

W.D calls Phillip out again, trying and failing to calm him down. After a long, painful minute does Phillip stop screaming bloody murder. W.D thinks he's finally gone silent, but then he hears the whimpers and moans coming out from Phillip's blue lips. W.D stares at him, not knowing what to do. He notices the filet of blood sliding down the sides of Phillip's face. He may not particularly get along well with the Carlyle boy, but seeing him like this makes his heart clench nonetheless. He doesn't dare to get too close to him though, afraid of a repetition. He's close enough to see the bruises on Phillip's throat however. He frowns. This looks too familiar to what he and Anne had to endure as children at the farm, before they were able to leave. His gut twists at seeing the same marks on the younger man before him.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he hears a pair of rapid footsteps approaching the secluded area. He quickly stands up to make space for Barnum.

 

-

 

Phineas had been on the verge of losing his mind when Constantine came to find him, breathless from running. He tells Phineas, in a panicked voice, that they've found Phillip and that he needs to come _now_. Phineas runs like he's never run before. He manages not to slip on the watered wood, even when Constantine tells him what happened. How terrible Phillip's scream was. Phineas' blood turns to ice, yet boils like it's on fire. He needs to get to Phillip.

 

Constantine points him to where W.D can be seen. Phineas jumps over the rope, sending a grateful look to W.D, and sinks down to his knees in front of Phillip, eyes wide at seeing the state of his- Phillip.

 

“Phillip?” He prompts, his voice sparking a hint of recognition in Phillip's eye, ceasing his broken noises.

 

Phineas sighs a little in relief. He goes to put his hands on Phillip's face, but W.D quickly stops him.

 

“Barnum.” He warns. “When I tried to touch him he started screaming to high heavens.”

 

Phineas glances at him, nods in understanding, and slowly puts both his hands on Phillip's wet cheeks.

 

“Phil, my Phil.” He whispers. “It's me- Phineas.”

 

Phillip's glazed over eyes start focusing on Phineas' worried ones. His mouth opens and closes, and opens again.

 

“Phin-” He chokes, gasping for breath.

 

“That's it, Flip.” Phineas says, hope filling his voice. “Come back to me, my darling.”

 

If W.D hears the term of endearment, he chooses not to comment on it.

 

Phillip slumps.

Phineas calls his name again, but when no answer is given, he quickly – if carefully – slides one arm under Phillip's knees, and the other on his back right below his shoulder blades, and lifts. Phillip makes a small protesting noise, but doesn't object further, seemingly out of it. Phineas stands up with Phillip in his arms, escalates the stacks of boxes and steps over the rope like it's no hardship whatsoever. Perhaps it's the adrenaline giving him the strength he needs. Perhaps it's Phillip's light weight allowing such ease. Or perhaps it's something else much stronger.

Phineas carries Phillip all the way to their cabin, and after W.D opens the door, deposits him on the chair. He tells W.D and Constantine that he'll take it from here, and it is with worried looks that they leave, making the Ringmaster promise to keep them updated.

With the door now closed and locked, Phineas crouches down to eye level with an unresponsive Phillip. Phineas touches his face again, trying to elicit a response again, to no avail. Phillip is catatonic, much to Phineas' ever increasing worry. It is only when Phillip starts shivering – and he as well - that it finally dawns on him that he and Phillip are thoroughly soaked with cold water. He quickly thinks through the possible next steps; he obviously can't leave Phillip in these wet clothes, else he'll catch a cold, but he also can't hold him up under the hot water – if there even is any - either without risking both of them slipping and injuring Phillip more than he already is.

Option number two it is then. Phineas works with quick professional efficiency as he unbuttons Phillip's vest and shirt, draping them over the backrest of the chair, removes his shoes and socks, and gently maneuvers his pants off. He hesitates at the sight of a bandage wrapped around Phillip's thigh. He unwraps it carefully, and freezes. There, blemishing Phillip's soft skin, lies an angry burn shaped in a single large dot. It doesn't look accidental either. Phineas counts to ten slowly, trying to calm himself, and decides to continue in his task. Next come off the undergarment, replacing it with a dry one from Phillip's bag. Not once has Phillip uttered a single sound. Now he just needs to lift Phillip up and lay him to bed. He prepares to carry him the bridal way again, when he feels something disturbing under the hand supporting Phillip's back. He peers at it and his hand jerks back in shock. He sees them. He sees all the gruesome gashes and scars, and can only gape in horror. So many questions pass through his head, demanding answers, but he sets them aside for later as his first priority is getting Phillip warmed up.

This time however, painfully aware of Phillip's back, he lifts him up by the waist, pivots and walks a few feet and settles him on the bed, facing the door. Phineas rids himself of his own clothing with less care than he did with Phillip's, and proceeds to also switch his wet undergarment for refreshingly dry ones. He then carefully steps over Phillip still immobile form, and settles in behind him, grabbing one of the pillow cases to create a barrier between his chest and Phillip's – surely painful – back. He pulls the covers up over them, and drapes his right arm over Phillip's trembling waist, slightly warmer hand coming to rest on his stomach. He pulls softly, drawing Phillip flush against him, while his other arm goes to form a protective circle around Phillip's head, hand coming to brush against his cheek.

 

They stay like this for hours, Phineas whispering sweet nothings and reassurances into Phillip's ear, sometimes earning a sound in reply. Phineas will take whatever noises he can get out of him, anything that tells him Phillip will come out of his catatonic condition. When Phillip starts whimpering again, he murmurs him a song. Eventually, instead of the erratic breathing, he starts feeling the stable rise and fall of Phillip's chest, indicating his sleeping state. Phineas continues his singing nonetheless, until he too, gives in to the luring call of sleep.

 

 

Phillip wakes up several times during the night, trashing and moaning, and Phineas has to hold him down to keep Phillip from hurting himself.

 

 

-

 

 

7:05 am

 

Phineas' inner light sleeper wakes up to the sound of soft knocks on the door. He doesn't risk calling out for the person to enter, not wanting to wake Phillip up. He knows she will enter regardless. As predicted, the door opens and Phineas raises his head to greet his close friend, his confidant, Lettie.

She and the Ringmaster had quickly bonded when he had first hired her. Pretty soon she had let her walls down around him, and showed her true joyful and caring nature. They would both talk to each other about their problems, their insecurities, in a way that Phineas couldn't with Charity, not at first at least. Phineas would never forget that night months ago when he and Lettie were drinking, in their usual spot on the floor of her room, and she had asked him about his thoughts on Phillip. He'd avoided her gaze and told her Phillip made a fine partner-apprentice. She had rolled her eyes and smacked him lightly on the head.

 

“Phineas Barnum,” She had said in a motherly voice, “I've seen the way you look at that boy.”

 

He had blushed a furious red and fiercely denied it, which earned him another smack to the head, harder this time, followed by a soft pat.

 

“I'm not going to judge you or run away screaming just because you love another man, Phineas. Especially not if that man happens to be our Phillip.” She had declared, her tone gentle and accepting.

 

Phineas had looked at her, expression raw with emotion, and had promptly burst out crying.

Lettie had held him in her arms while he sobbed about his feeling of betrayal towards Charity – even though he still loved her - and the girls, and about his unrequited love. They had fallen asleep in each other's arms, still on the floor, the copious amount of alcohol inhibiting their need for physical ease.

The next morning when they had sobered up, Lettie had convinced Phineas to talk with Charity about it, and figure out the rest later. So he had nervously told his wife everything. Charity, in her infinite wisdom and comforting self, had smiled at him, telling him she had suspected it for awhile, and was glad he had decided to share this with her. She had said she knew Phineas had too much love to give, and even she couldn't possibly sustain it by herself. They had embraced and kissed, and Charity had told him ominously to be patient with Phillip.

Later on Lettie had told Phineas the same thing, adding a wink to it.

 

The woman in question brings Phineas back to the present with her hushed voice.

 

“Phineas?” She calls out quietly “Is everything alright?”

 

Phineas, with only his head peeking out from behind Phillip's sleeping form, answers with only a jerk of his head, beckoning her to come closer. Lettie grabs the only chair and sets it in front of the bed, sitting on it, eyebrow raising expectantly. Phineas sighs.

 

“Don't speak too loudly,” He advises her, “Phillip is finally asleep for more than two consecutive hours.”

 

She nods, looking down at the half of Phillip's face not hidden under the covers. He looks so peaceful and young.

 

“What happened last night, Phineas?” She asks seriously. “You almost lost your marbles on us, and then WD tells me how he and Constantine found Phillip in a concerning state. What's going on?”

 

Phineas' eyes lower to settle on Phillip's head. He plants a soft kiss on the top of it, then raises them again to meet Lettie's.

 

“I can't tell you exactly what happened Lettie. I'm not quite of it sure myself to be honest. I have an inkling, but even so, I don't think it's my place to tell you.” He says, unconsciously flexing the arm occupying Phillip's waist.

 

The movement ruffles the cover, and Lettie just raises a questioning eyebrow at him. Phineas rolls his eyes playfully.

 

“No Lettie, it's not what you think.” He justifies “Phil was soaking wet and I couldn't just dump him in the shower. So here we are.”

 

At Lettie's smirk, he huffs.

 

“Body warmth, Lettie, just body warmth.”

 

She snickers quietly, just loud enough for Phineas to hear and give her a glare. A moment of silence passes, with Phineas just staring at Phillip, and Lettie observing the action with a thoughtful expression.

 

“Have you told him yet?” she asks suddenly.

 

“No...and I don t think I can.” He says, not taking his eyes off Phillip.

 

“Why not? He clearly feels something for you.” She says, determination in her voice.

 

“Well, we had this moment.” He starts slowly. “I told him there was nowhere else I'd rather be than here with him. When I thought I saw a reflection of my own sentiments in those alluring eyes of his, I leaned in to- to kiss him.” He blushes. “But he practically ran away from me... I think- he looked terrified, and disgusted, Lettie. I don't know what to think, I don't know what to do...” He trails off.

 

“Listen Phineas,” She says, “Phillip comes from another society than ours. His parents probably raised him with strict rules, and close minded ways. He must be scared of his own feelings. After all, even you, the freest spirit I know, were scared of loving another man, weren't you?”

 

He looks up at her and nods shyly, his eyes conveying once again his gratitude for the support and acceptance she had given him that night.

 

“His parents are awful people, Lettie.” He whispers.

 

“From what Anne has told me, they sure seem like terrible humans beings.” She says, observing the way Phineas' eyes darken with anger. “And for that reason you must be careful with him. But he'll eventually accept it, Phineas. And you.”

 

“I hope you're right.” He replies, melancholic.

 

Lettie gives him a small smile, stands up, putting the chair back in its place, and walks to the door, before turning back around an adding:

 

“Take care of him, okay?”

 

“Always.”

 

After she leaves, Phineas sets his head back onto the pillow, scooting closer to Phillip, his nose nestling his hair, and falls back asleep.

 

-

 

8:44 am

 

Phillip wakes up, feeling groggy. He is sore all over, yet still oddly warm and comfortable. He takes in his surroundings, confused as to how he got back to his cabin. The last thing he remembers is the sound of the rushing waves surrounding him, drowning his brain in a blur of fear and despair. His heart gives a slight lurch. Thankfully, his bad arm is distractedly in need of movement, so he tries shifting positions. Only to find himself stuck. By a familiar weight. He swallows, and risks looking down. There is indeed an arm resting on his waist, attached to a hand covering his stomach. Phillip is torn between wanting to move as far away as possible from Phineas, or wanting to curl himself around Phineas' hand instead. However, as his brain slowly wakes up, he feels that his shirt and pants are missing, and that he is bed, laying flush against another man. That man being the sole owner of his heart – and doesn't that thought just send a shock through his veins. His back also happens to be currently exposed to that man. Phillip realizes that it means Phineas probably saw his lashes and burn. But this time, instead of panic, he just feels this strange mix of numbness and resignation. Perhaps he just doesn't have the energy anymore. The shame, however, is still there, pulsing.

Phillip turns his head towards Phineas, making sure he's still asleep before attempting to slither out of bed. The corner of his eye tells him just how close Phineas is; his partner's nose is now brushing against his cheek. The movement must have woken him up, because Phineas' eyes flutter open, making immediate contact with Phillip's wide ones.

They stay silent for about five seconds.

 

“Phil-”

 

“Phin-”

 

They both stop, wanting to let the other talk. When neither of them starts again, Phineas smiles a bit sheepishly, his morning stubble tickling Phillip's cheek.

 

“How are you feeling, Phillip? Phineas asks.

 

“Fine.” Phillip answers curtly. “But would you mind removing your arm from me? I'd like to get up now.”

 

The words taste foul on his tongue, and they seem to affect Phineas too, who quickly withdraws his hold on Phillip.

 

Phillip swings his legs over the bed, his head spinning briefly. He doesn't notice the thin sheet falling off his back, but he hears Phineas' sharp intake of breath, and feels the mattress shift.

 

“Phillip.” Phineas' tight voice is right next to his ear again. “Why didn't you tell me?”

 

“There was nothing to tell.” Phillip answers dispassionately.

 

Phineas joins him in his sitting position, feet touching the ground next to Phillip's.

 

“'Nothing to tell'.” He repeats incredulously. “Your back looks worse than anything I've seen in my life, and not to mention your thigh _that has a hole burned into it.”_ He tries to keep his tone leveled, for Phillip's sake, but he can't keep the tremble and anger – towards Phillip's father, whom he guesses is responsible - from his voice.

 

Phillip stands up now, and goes to rummage through his belongings. Phineas follows him.

 

“Why would you lie to me, Phillip?” Phineas asks, putting a hand on Phillip's arm in effort to get his full attention.

 

“I didn't lie to you.” Phillip yanks his arm back, missing the hurt in Phineas' eyes this time. “I just didn't see the need to share every little detail.” _-and make a further fool of myself_ remains unsaid.

 

Phillip, having found a pair of pants, puts them on, gritting his teeth as the fabric brushes against his injured thigh.

 

“'Little detail'? 'Nothing to tell'?” Phineas exclaims as Phillip puts on a shirt and a scarf. “Listen to yourself, Phillip! You're treating this as if it's nothing!”

 

“It _is_ nothing!” Phillip yells, stunning Phineas into silence.

 

As Phillip puts on his socks and shoes, Phineas also gets dressed, momentarily at a loss for words. When they are both fully clothed, Phineas breaks the silence:

 

“If it were Anne, or me, would you also say it's nothing?” He asks quietly. Phillip's eyes sharpen as they meet his.

 

“Of course not!” Phillip snaps out.

 

“Then why should it be different with you?” Phineas asks gently.

 

At Phillip's silence, Phineas moves closer, slowly, carefully.

 

“What your father did is despicable, wrong, and certainly not nothing, Flip.” Phineas says, not missing Phillip's flinch at the mention of his father. “And what happened yesterday wasn't nothing either.”

 

As he recalls the previous day and night's events, Phillip lowers his eyes and takes a step back, which Phineas annuls by taking one forward.

 

“What happened yesterday, Flip?” Phineas asks, his tone gentle yet demanding an answer.

 

“I- I just got-” Phillip starts, still looking at the floor.

 

“Seasick.” They finish in unison, making Phillip look up.

 

“You've said that before, and I still don't believe you now.” Phineas says sternly, stepping forward. “Try again.”

 

“Look, it doesn't matter anyway. It's over, and it won't happen again.” Phillip says, mostly trying to convince himself, as he steps back.

 

“How do you know?” Phineas takes another step closer.

 

“Because it was nothing.” Phillip takes one back, his nerves starting to ignite.

 

“Why do you keep saying it's nothing?!” Phineas raises his voice, taking another step.

 

“Because it is!” Phillip meets his volume, but steps back.

 

“Why?!” Another step.

 

“BECAUSE _I_ AM NOTHING!”

 

Phillip's back hits the wall, the thump echoing loudly in the small cabin, as one tear falls from his eye. He lowers his head to futilely hide it.

 

Phineas advances until there are only a few inches left between them, and with his thumb and index finger lifts up Phillip's chin. Whiskey eyes meet ocean ones.

 

“Phillip.” Phineas whispers. “It seems my words from the other night did not stick with you.”

 

Phillip swallows.

“ _Where else would I possibly want to be?”_

These words, so poignant, yet so harrowing.

 

“So tell me, Phillip.” Phineas' voice cuts through Phillip's thoughts, bringing his full attention back on the Ringmaster. “If you truly are nothing, as you say,” His free hand comes to cradle Phillip's neck, fingers burying in the small hair at the base of his skull, as he whispers, “Then who am I in love with?”

 

Phillip's breath catches in his throat. Time seems to stop altogether.

 

Phineas slowly closes the remaining distance, his lips brushing Phillip's, leaving the younger man the option to back out if he so chooses.

Phillip's heart is fluttering like a bird begging to be free of its gilded cage, leaving him breathless. He should move away, push the other man out of his way and flee. Instead, he is the one who presses his lips the extra millimeter against Phineas', finally locking them together. They stay immobile for a few seconds, until Phineas starts moving his soft lips against Phillip's. His fingers caress Phillip's neck, sending shivers down his spine, making Phillip gasp. Phineas takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss by sliding his tongue into Phillip's warm mouth. There is no battle for dominance, both of them softly exploring each other. A high pitched whine escapes Phillip as he begins to feel the heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Phineas presses him harder against the wall, unknowingly making Phillip's back send a jolt of pain to his already aching nerves. Reality rushes back in.

Phillip jerks away from the kiss, his head just avoiding hitting the wall behind it. Phineas looks at him dazed, pupils dilated, skin mirroring Phillip's flushed one, lips still parted. Phillip has the desire to just throw himself back at him, but the overwhelming urge to flee overtakes. Before Phineas can even say a word, Phillip pushes past him, heading for the door.

 

“Phil wait-” Phineas starts, walking after him.

 

“Don't-” Phillip interrupts him, voice trembling, his hand on the door handle and his back to Phineas, not trusting himself to face him. “Don't follow me, please.” His voice barely over a whisper.

 

Phillip opens the door, and closes it behind him.

 

-

 

Phillip almost runs. Almost. But his shaky legs won't allow it. So instead he walks aimlessly around the ship, deep in thought. Phineas had kissed him. He had kissed Phineas, and he'd liked it. He shouldn't like though, right?

Phineas had told him he loved him. No, that he was _in love_ with him. But that's not possible. It can't be. Phineas is married to Charity, he has two beautiful little girls, and well, Phillip is just Phillip. A worthless, pathetic excuse for a human being, undeserving of love, especially Phineas'. But Phineas kissed _him._ He said he loved _him_. They kissed they _kissed_ _they-_

 

“Carlyle?”

 

Phillip spins around, coming face to face with W.D.

 

“W.D, hi.” Phillip says, surprised. “How are you?”

 

W.D raises an eyebrow at the seemingly normal tone.

 

“Good. Yourself?” W.D looks at him suspiciously.

 

“Perfectly fine, thanks.” Phillip replies.

 

Having exchanged pleasantries, and feeling no need to chat with the man he barely gets along with, Phillip makes to turn back around to continue his route, but W.D stops him by asking:

 

“So what was that last night?” Phillip freezes at the question.

 

“Wh- What do you mean?” He stammers, a sense of dread creeping in.

 

“You don't remember?” W.D frowns.

 

Phillip tenses and doesn't answer.

 

“Constantine and I were the ones to find you, Carlyle.” W.D continues. “And I'd like to know what it was we found.”

 

“I don't see how that concerns you.” Phillip states, wanting to end this conversation _now,_ getting sick of people being privy to his personal affairs, bringing him more shame.

 

“It does when you get screamed at for no reason.” W.D retorts.

 

“'Screamed at'”? Phillip asks despite himself, confused.

 

W.D narrows his eyes, studying Phillip. After a moment's pause, he asks:

 

“So you really don't remember..” It's more of a statement than a question.

 

“No, I don't remember anything. So I'm sorry if I did or said anything to you, or Constantine.” Phillip says, feeling his fake bravado leave him.

 

“Carl- Phillip, you didn't say anything.” W.D starts. “You just sat there in the rain, it was like you didn't even know we were there, digging your nails into your head 'til it bled.”

 

Phillip' clenches his fists, trying not to show a reaction at the upsetting inforamtion.

 

“You-” Phillip clears his throat. “You said I was- I was screaming?” His voice wavers a little.

 

W.D nods.

 

“I tried to make you react, so I touched your shoulder. You started screaming like the demons were after you.” He says, his voice betraying nothing.

 

“Oh.” Is all Phillip can reply through his humiliation.

 

“Yeah, 'oh'.” W.D deadpans. “Now are you gonna tell me what made you almost turn me deaf?”

 

Phillip shakes his head, eyes lowering.

 

“I- I can't, I'm sorry.” Phillip says, quietly. “I don't even know- I'm not- I-” He takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry you had to see that, W.D.”

 

W.D seems to take pity on Phillip, and just nods, before adding:

 

“Anne is in room 164. You should go see her.”

 

Phillip looks at him gratefully, and turns around to head over to Anne's cabin. As he walks away, W.D calls out to him:

 

“If you ever need to talk about what's on your throat, Anne and I understand.”

 

Phillip stops to glance at him, before walking away, readjusting his scarf self consciously.

 

-

 

 

Phillip halts in front of room 164 and knocks. The door opens after a few seconds, Anne's smiling face coming into view. She's wearing an ankle high skirt, a long sleeved shirt similar to his own, with a shawl draped over her shoulders, her wild hair falling around it. Phillip smiles back, albeit a bit shyly.

 

“Phillip!” Anne says happily. “How are you? Come in!”

 

Phillip steps in as Anne closes the door, and she gestures for him to take a seat on the bed where she joins him. Her cabin is almost identical to his and Phineas', with the exception of the porthole being right above the bed.

 

“Where's your bunk mate?” Phillip asks.

 

“Where's your splinter?” She counters.

 

“I'll have you know I don't need it anymore.” He smirks playfully at her.

 

“Oh really?” Anne stares at him in mock suspicion.

 

“Ok fine, I just forgot to put it on.” He says, not quite lying.

 

She hums but drops the subject.

 

“Deng is out having breakfast with Charles I think.” Anne answers his previous question. “Did you eat yet?”

 

Come to think of it, Phillip hasn't had food in his stomach for over a day and a half now. He still doesn't feel particularly hungry, but his body needs the energy.

 

“I haven't. Care to join me, Miss Wheeler?” He stands up and extends his good hand comically.

 

Anne laughs sweetly, taking his proffered hand.

 

“Why yes, Mr Carlyle, but no funny business.” She lets herself be pulled up as she bumps him playfully on the shoulder, making him chuckle.

 

Together they head out to the dinning hall, or what's passing as one. They grab a few bagels, with a cup of coffee for Phillip, and a cup of tea for Anne, and head outside.

The wind is not as strong as it could be, the morning mist creating a relaxing atmosphere.

Anne and Phillip sit down on one of the benches on the far end of the deck. A few other passengers enjoying their own breakfast at a comfortable distance around them. Anne asks him how he is enjoying their trip so far, if he's excited to meet the Queen, if he thinks she'll have time to buy English tea, and Phillip asks her if she misses flying around on her trapeze and how she gets along with her new roommate. She asks him the same question.

 

“PT's been..great.” Phillip says cautiously. “I was mad at him at first because he 'forgot' to tell me of the arrangements he made for the cabins, that foozler, but what can I do. Phin- PT's eccentric that way, isn't he?” He grumbles a bit.

 

Anne giggles in her hand.

 

“What did I say?” He asks quizzically.

 

“Nothing, nothing.” Anne giggles again. “It's just that you sound like an old married couple.”

 

Phillip blushes bright red as he recalls the heated yet sweet kiss he and Phineas shared earlier. He debates telling Anne about it, when he sees her looking over his shoulder.

 

“Speak of the devil.” She points with her chin.

 

Phillip inhales sharply, and turns around to look where Phineas is standing by the doorway at the entrance of the deck, looking around.

 

“Woah, déjà-vu.” Anne mutters.

 

Phillip can't take his eyes off Phineas, and curses himself when Phineas' find his, making his way towards them. Phillip quickly turns back around, and focuses on Anne who's giving him a questioning look. He tries to say something, anything, before Phineas reaches them but too late. He must have been walking at a fast paste, because suddenly he is standing next to them. Anne looks up at Phineas, eyebrows raised, as he seems to have eyes only for her flustered friend. She clears her throat. Phineas tears his eyes away from Phillip and smiles at her.

 

“Anne, good morning, how are you?” Phineas asks her with a lopsided grin.

 

Anne only nods, cup of tea in her hands, as she definitely senses the Ringmaster is not here for her. Phineas immediately looks back at Phillip, much to Anne's amusement.

 

“Phillip, can we talk?” Phineas asks softly.

 

“We're talking right now, aren't we?” Phillip says, still looking at Anne who raises a brow at him.

 

“I mean in private.” Phineas sighs.

 

“Then no. I'm having breakfast with Anne here.”

 

Anne is just looking back and forth at them, mirth gone, trying now instead to suppress a frown.

 

“Phillip, will you look at me at least when I talk to you?” His voice almost sounds desperate.

 

Phillip reluctantly turns his head to look at him, his gaze automatically falling on Phineas' lips, before rising to meet his eyes.

 

“Listen P.T, I told you to leave me alone.” Phillip says, failing to sound nonchalant about it.

 

“You told me not to follow you, not to leave you alone, Phil.”

 

“Well then I'm telling you now. Leave me _alone.”_ Phillip's heart breaks as he says it, but he just can't be in Phineas' proximity right now.

 

Anne's jaw drops as Phineas steps back like he's been slapped across the face. He nods stiffly, and departs without a word, disappearing back inside.

Phillip shakily bring his cup of coffee to his lips and takes a sip in hope of washing away the bitter taste of his words. It doesn't help in the slightest.

 

“Phillip...” Anne whispers, as he settles the cup back down.

 

His bottom lip is trembling, his vision becoming blurry. He hears Anne setting down her own cup, and taking his hand in hers, pulling him up to stand with her. She leads him back to her cabin, and sits them down on the bed.

 

“Ok what's going on?” Anne asks him gently. “Yesterday, Barnum was worried sick trying to find you, and now you're being all weird towards each other.”

 

“Anne- I-” Phillip chokes. “I don't know what to do, just-” A sob escapes him. “God, I'm sick of crying all the time.”

 

Anne gathers him in her arms, hushes him, tells him it's normal, and to take a deep breath. He does.

 

“P.T- Phineas told me- He said he-” Phillip stutters in her shoulder, trying to keep the tears at bay. “He told me he's in love with me.” He manages finally.

 

Anne pulls back after a minute, looking Phillip in the eyes.

 

“That's not all that happened, is it?” She declares more than asks, to which he nods.

 

“We..we kissed.” He admits, turning red, as he lowers his eyes.

 

“Phillip, hey, look at me.” Anne says, looping a gentle finger under his chin. “There's nothing to be ashamed of, you hear me?”

 

“But I've just kissed a man! And I lo-” Phillip stops himself, shocked at the words that he was about to say aloud for the first time.

 

Anne just gives him a small smile.

 

“And you love him too, don't you?” Again, not a question.

 

Phillip takes another deep breath, his silence answer enough.

 

“Phil, listen.” She starts. “Just because society doesn't accept homosexuals-” Phillip flinches. “Doesn't mean it's wrong. I would know, being the color that I am.” She smiles at him reassuringly. “I've seen the way Barnum looks at you. Heck, I think we've all seen it by now. That man cares deeply for you, in a way that would make anyone jealous for that kind of attention. And I've seen how _you_ look at him. How you talk about him. It's nothing short of beautiful. The love you have for each other is just that: beautiful.”

 

“But we can't- we can't be together. It's just not possible.” Phillip whispers, despite being in awe of Anne's words.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Anne, if my parents ever found out, and they would, they'd-” He stops, a tremor coursing through his body.

 

“If your parents ever lay a hand on you again, I'll kill them myself.” Anne says, her voice as cold as ice.

 

“H- How did you know?” Phillip asks in a quiet voice.

 

Anne's features soften again.

 

“I know when you're lying to me, and I have eyes,Phil. And I also know what it feels like to be powerless against these type of people.” She tells him.

 

“I'm sorry..” He truly is.

 

“It was years ago. But you,” She pokes at his chest. “Don't lie to me again. I want to help you. You're my best friend and it hurts me to see you like this.”

 

“You're my best friend too, Anne. I'm sorry I lied to you.”

 

“I understand. Just don't do it again, unless you're trying to throw me a surprise party.” She says, breaking the tension, making Phillip chuckle.

 

“Now.” She continues. “I take it you need some time before seeing Barnum again, am I right?” He nods shyly. “Right. So, what are we doing today?”

 

-

 

At the very same moment, the Bearded Lady hands a tissue to the Ringmaster for his tears, and slaps his head for his use of the word 'impossible'.

 

-

 

Anne and Phillip end up spending the entire day together. Phillip helps Anne with her stretching, giving it a go as well. Anne tells him he has potential. Then they walk around, exploring the boat, ignoring the looks some of the passengers give them. They grab a couple sandwiches for lunch, talk with Charles and Deng, while Constantine just gives Phillip a worried look, which Phillip pointedly ignores. They go back to Anne's cabin, where after a long dance session, or 'practice' as Anne wants to call their ridiculous flapping around, they sit down on the floor and play a card game. Phillip accepts Anne's challenge of building a castle of cards. Which proves to be much harder as the constant rocking of the boat makes the cards tumble. Anne doesn't get better results either once she's stopped laughing. In the end they both end up reading books that Anne brought with her, until they once again head out to the dining hall, bringing their evening dinner back to Anne’s cabin. All in all, Phillip actually manages to relax throughout the day. However, he can't get rid of the ball of nerves in his stomach, knowing he'll have to face Phineas sooner or later.

Despite Anne's determined and encouraging words, Phillip knows that what happened between Phineas and him this morning can never happen again.

 

His heart throbs in protest.

 

 

-

 

 

10:39 pm

 

Phillip ponders whether or not to go back to his cabin. He'd left Anne's when he saw how tired she was getting. He had said he was hitting the hay too when she tried to play it off.

Now on one hand, he wants to just lay down and sleep. One the other hand, he's still not ready to face Phineas yet. He's been lucky – in a way - so far, hasn't even seen sign of him anywhere after their 'altercation' that morning. He's disgusted with himself for putting that look of pain in Phineas' eyes. With that in mind, Phillip decides to get some fresh air, and heads once again to the deck. The halls are deserted, as it seems everyone has gone to sleep. Once outside, he feels it's much colder than it was this morning, but Phillip doesn't mind. The fast beat of his heart sends warm blood through his veins, keeping his temperature slightly warmer than usual. He has the ocean to thank for that. The deck is illuminated by a few lanterns, just enough light to see where he's walking. Phillip realizes that his fear of water is slowly digressing. Maybe because his mind is too busy with other thoughts. Nevertheless, he's relieved. He had justified this morning's calmness with Anne's presence, but now that he's alone, he still gathers up the courage to lean on the railing, peering down at the dark water. His gut clenches nervously, but the water captures his attention. It hypnotizes him. Phillip grips the metal bar tighter, swallowing with difficulty. A wild thought hits him then.

 

_What if he jumped?_

 

He already knows the feeling of water filling his lungs after all. What if he decided to just let go? Let the ocean swallow him up and take away all his worries. Phillip leans further. He hasn't allowed himself these kind of thoughts in months. Ever since he's joined the Circus in fact. Since he met Phineas. God, he's such a mess, but he loves that man with all his heart! He loves every part of him, he just needs to say it out loud, just once. Dammit why is it so hard! He loves Phineas, he loves him he loves he-

 

“I love him..” Phillip whispers to the ocean. “God, I love him so much.” He repeats, louder this time, as if the words liberate him. Maybe they do.

 

-

 

About an hour later, Phillip is still staring at the waves, when a familiar voice makes itself known from a few feet away.

 

“Mind if I join you?” Asks Phineas cautiously.

 

Phillip is not even surprised, really. Phineas always seems to end up finding him wherever he goes. He mutely nods his head to Phineas' request. The Ringmaster joins him by the railing, leaning next to Phillip, their elbows touching. They stay silent, both casting small glances at each other while the one is looking at the night's horizon. Then Phineas sighs, and looks at the night sky.

 

“Aren't the stars beautiful?” Phineas whispers.

 

Phillip looks up as well, truly noticing them for the first time. It's his turn to sigh, the sound of waves splashing around them.

 

“Phil,” Phineas starts, “I want to apologize for this morning's...events.”

 

Phillip turns to him.

 

“Why?” He asks, surprised this time.

 

“Because I made you uncomfortable with my advances.” Phineas answers. “I acted in a most unfitting manner towards you, and for that I'm sorry, Phillip.” His tone seems sincere, but not quite regretful.

 

Phillip stares at him.

 

“Are you really?” Phillip murmurs.

 

Phineas takes a moment to respond, looking back at the ocean.

 

“No.” He finally says.

 

“Neither am I.” Phillip admits.

 

Phineas turns back to him, that something back in his eyes. Then something snaps in place in Phillip's head. That something he kept seeing in Phineas' eyes was _love_. Simple, raw _love_. It takes Phillip aback for a moment, until he shakes himself. He can't let himself be swayed by his feelings again.

 

“But we can't do it again, Phineas.” Phillip hates how he makes the glint disappear from Phineas' beautiful eyes.

 

“What do you mean?” A hint of despair colors Phineas' voice.

 

Phillip turns his gaze to the deep ocean, not able to see those sadness filled eyes any longer.

 

“Phineas,” Phillip starts, “You have Charity. And the girls.”

 

“The girls love you, Flip.” Phineas says. “And I've told Charity what I feel for you.”

 

Phillip can't help but admire Phineas' foolish courage and honesty. He doesn't expect what Phineas says after.

 

“She understood, and gave me her blessing, when all I had asked and hoped for was her forgiveness.”

 

Phillip just closes his eyes, surprised yet relieved at Charity's acceptance. However he squashes the small feeling of hope that follows. He opens his eyes again, the darkness of the ocean engulfing him.

 

“Do you want to know why the water scares me?” Phillip asks suddenly, borrowing some courage from the Ringmaster.

 

Phineas frowns at the sudden change, but doesn't say a word, simply stares at Phillip, who sighs.

 

“When I was eight, my father tried to drown me in a lake.” Phillip starts slowly, noting from the corner of his eye the way Phineas' jaw clenches. “I had made the mistake of telling him that I liked holding my friend's hand. I didn't know how to swim. S _till_ don't know how to actually. The only answer I received as I cried for help was my father's opinion on the matter of...men being close to other men. I suspect my mother didn't want to have a scandal scorching the Carlyle name, so she told one of the servants to pull me out before I sank entirely. Needless to say, I never saw William again after that. Just because we held hands.”

 

Phillip exhales a shaking breath, while Phineas looks about ready to explode. Phillip hears him count backwards from ten.

 

“Flip,” He says tightly, “I've told you, that monster has no right to have done what he did.” He pauses. “Do you believe him, that our feelings should be punished?”

 

Phillip shakes his head, but answers nonetheless:

 

“My father's words on the wrongness of them haunt me- _drown_ me, Phineas. They- They fill my lungs with water, burning and suffocating and-” He chokes.

 

Phineas' hand grabs Phillip's good one in an instant, and squeezes it.

 

“Flip, hey, it's ok, you're safe.” He hushes, and Phillip nods quickly, not willing to embarrass himself further today.

 

“Phil,” Phineas starts again, “You can't let that spineless man dictate your life, or your feelings. You already took a big step by joining our Circus family. And in my humbug opinion, it's the only family you need.” A brief smile appears and disappears.

 

“And yet, he always finds a way to put me back in my place. And he will again if he finds out about- this. ” Phillip whispers.

 

“Phil-”

 

“No, Phineas, I'm sorry but it's just-” Tears form in his eyes. “You and me, it's just not possible.”

 

Phillip turns and starts walking away, determined to not let Phineas see how his heart is shattering.

 

**You know I want you**

Phillip stops at the sound of Phineas' voice.

**It's not a secret I try to hide  
I know you want me**

Phineas approaches him slowly.

 **So don't keep saying our hands are tied  
You claim it's not in the cards  
Fate is pulling you miles away**  
**And out of reach from me**

Phineas takes Phillip's hand in his, slowly spinning him around to face him.

**But you're here in my heart**

**So who can stop me if I decide  
That you're my destiny?**

Phineas pulls Phillip close to him, his other hand coming to settle on his hip.

**What if we rewrite the stars?  
Say you were made to be mine**

Phineas puts his forehead against Phillip's.

**Nothing could keep us apart  
You'd be the one I was meant to find**

Phillip pulls away, hand slipping out of Phineas', walking back towards the rail. Phineas follows him.

**It's up to you, and it's up to me  
No one can say what we get to be**

Phillip leans against the metal bar, looking at the ocean, Phineas standing next to him again

**So why don't we rewrite the stars?  
Maybe the world could be ours  
Tonight**

Phineas leans in, but Phillip pulls back, stepping away.

_You think it's easy_

_You think I don't want to run to you_

Phillip clenches his fist.

_But there are mountains  
And there are doors that we can't walk through_

He approaches Phineas.

 _I know you're wondering why_  
_Because we're able to be_  
_Just you and me_  
_Within these walls_  
_But when we go outside_  
_You're going to wake up and see that it was hopeless after all_

Phillip stops, and shakes his head.

_No one can rewrite the stars  
How can you say you'll be mine?_

Tears start forming in his eyes again.

_Everything keeps us apart  
And I'm not the one you were meant to find_

He walks back to the middle of the deck.

 _It's not up to you_  
_It's not up to me_  
_When everyone tells us what we can be_

He turns back to Phineas, who hasn't moved with him this time but is looking at him with shining eyes.

_How can we rewrite the stars?  
Say that the world can be ours_

Each of Phillip's eyes sheds a single tear, as Phineas steps forward, reaching him in two strides.

_Tonight_

They start circling each other, getting closer.

**_All I want is to fly with you_ **   
**_All I want is to fall with you_ **   
**_So just give me all of you_ **

They close the distance step by step.

 _It feels impossible_ **(it's not impossible)**  
_Is it impossible?_

Phineas pulls them flush together, one hand on the small of Phillip's back, mindful of his injuries.

_**Say that it's possible** _

Phineas' other hand wipes a tear out Phillip's flushed face.

_**How do we rewrite the stars?** _

Phineas tilts Phillip's head back so they are both looking at the millions of stars above them.

_**Say you were made to be mine? Nothing can keep us apart** _

They look at each other, their eyes full of emotions.

_**'Cause you are the one I was meant to find  
It's up to you** _

Phineas brushes their heads together again, their eyes not breaking contact.

_**And it's up to me  
No one can say what we get to be** _

They both smile softly, full of love and emotional desire.

_**And why don't we rewrite the stars?  
Changing the world to be ours** _

Phillip tries to bring himself back to the harsh reality.

_You know I want you_

Phillip's smile drops, followed by Phineas'.

_It's not a secret I try to hide_

Phillip takes a step back.

_But I can't have you  
We're bound to break and my hands are tied_

Just as Phillip is about to turn around to leave, Phineas grabs his hand, pulls him back and smashes their lips together

-

This kiss, as sweet and loving as their first one, is more passionate, more desperate.

This kiss is sealing.

 

-

 

The next morning finds Phillip in Phineas' arms, both well rested, and Phillip knows this is where he wants to be.

 

-

 

They arrive to England a few days later, on time, and head to Buckingham Palace to meet with Her Majesty. Everything goes according to plan, until Phillip is forced to introduce Phineas to Jenny Lind. Phineas bring Miss Lind over to America. The trip back is much nicer than their way over, with Phineas and Phillip getting closer and closer. Once back ashore, the Ringmaster immediately sends the opera singer on a stage. At Phineas' remark about putting the oddities, their family, out of view, Phillip just gives him a look. They stare at each other, and Phineas apologizes, telling him to put them in his booth. Phillip smiles innocently, and does as he is told. The rest of the evening goes by smoothly, Phineas welcoming everyone in for a drink or three before their own show.

 

-

 

The next day however, Phineas starts telling Phillip of his crazy plan to travel across the states with Jenny, spouting off about taking out an impossibly large loan. Phillip cuts him short, begging his partner, his lover, to think about the consequences of this tour. As realization dawns on the Ringmaster, Phineas' eyes soften their crazy light, and he cradles Phillip, telling him he is not going to abandon him, not now nor ever. He kisses him sweetly.

Jenny ends up being a quite a big success in New York, and with the profits made, Phineas hires a tour manager to travel with Jenny in his stead. When the Nightingale singer asks why Phineas won't go himself, he simply answers that his priorities are here, glancing at Phillip who smiles back.

 

-

 

Phineas has started spending more and more nights at Phillip's apartment. Just cuddling in bed, or reading together – Phillip cannot get enough of Phineas' voice as it turns out. Even weeks after the incident with Phillip's parents, Phineas continues to check his wrist, throat and face, which are back to their normal color. Phineas also insists keep spreading the soothing cream himself on Phillip's back and thigh, which are healing without infections. They will however leave quite a number of scars.

The nights when Phineas is not at Phillip's, Phillip is at Phineas'. The first few times are awkward for Phillip as he sees Charity. The amazing woman of course greets him with welcoming arms, as do Helen and Caroline. After the second time Phillip stays over in one of the guest rooms, Phineas always with him, he can't help but apologize to his lover's wife. Charity just shakes her head in exasperation, and invites him for tea and biscuits, without Phineas. It makes for an quite a scene, according to Phineas, to see his mischievous wife and smirking lover talk in hushed voices, only to stare at their shared man as he enters the veranda, giggling at him. Phineas will never admit that he found that sight to be terrifying.

 

-

 

The night of the fire is the night Phineas prays for the first time. He rushes into the burning building a couple seconds after Phillip, giving Charity an apologetic look, ignoring her cries. He needs to get to Phillip. As the roof collapses on top of them, a column smashing into Phineas' side, sending him sprawling to the floor, he gets back up, Phillip being the only thing on his mind. He finds him, almost passed out from smoke inhalation, burned and bleeding, and carries him back to safety. When Phillip gets taken into the ambulance, Phineas insists to stay with him, telling the medical crew he's family. So they take him with them.

That night, he prays for Phillip to wake up.

 

-

 

During the two weeks it takes for Phillip to be released from the hospital, the Circus family all bunk at the Barnum's house, at Phineas' insistence. There's more than enough space, and his girls are delighted. When he finally brings Phillip home, no one questions why he and their Ringmaster sleep in the same room. Some of the oddities, however, grumble about having lost a bet. Anne and Lettie, though, they simply shake hands.

 

-

 

The two partners deduce that they have enough money to buy a new home for the Circus. They decide to make it bigger, grander, and end up buying an impressive tent that they install by the docks. Phineas makes sure it's alright with Phillip first and foremost. Phillip assures him that it's fine, and it actually is. Phineas and him have slowly been introducing Phillip to water down by the pond, next to their house. Phillip had even felt comfortable enough to take a walk on the beach with Phineas.

The night of the show's reopening, the crowd is wild with cheers, applauding, and chanting with them. Everything goes without a hitch, and soon enough the after-party is on at its full peak. Neither Phineas nor Phillip touch a drink of alcohol though, too busy sneaking touches and kisses. In the privacy of the office tent, they spend their first night fully together, bodies and hearts beating as one.

 

-

 

Phillip still has a few moments where he feels like his mind will explode, but Phineas is always here to help him through them. They tell each other everything. When Phillip tell his lover about his growing love for the aerial arts, thanks to Anne and W.D – the latter and himself having a new friendship in the making - Phineas encourages him to pursue it. The Ringmaster even asks Lettie and her masterful sewing skills to make Phillip a costume. Phillip loves it, and sheds a single tear of happiness at his reflection, Phineas standing behind him, hands roaming along the new, smooth, ocean blue texture adorning Phillip's body.

It's the first time the two lovers will be on scene together. Up until this moment, it was either Phineas or Phillip as the Ringmaster, alternating turns. Now, as Phineas is in the center of the ring, all dressed up in red and gold, he points at the new addition. Phillip smiles at him from his Lyra, and begins his show. His graceful performance leaves the audience breathless as they roar in approval and awe. Hot adrenaline is pumping through Phillip's veins as he meets Phineas' wide eyes. Both their irises filled with black.

That night, their love-making is almost feral.

 

-

 

On Friday evening, to celebrate Phillip's first week as an official rare bird – Charles' words, not his – Phineas takes him to see a play, despite the older man's protest. Phillip argues that he's feeling somewhat nostalgic, and gives Phineas a convincing incentive under the bleachers of the main tent.

They arrive at the Broadway Theater, all dressed up in their tuxedos, pick up their tickets at the booth, and make their way up the stairs, chatting away about the play's synopsis. They've just reached the flat middle part of the stairs, when a voice calls behind them.

 

“Phillip?”

Phillip freezes in place, Phineas almost bumping into him. Phineas turns to see an older man and woman walk up on the other side of that carpeted stairs, stopping at their level, no railing to separate them. He hears Phillip swallow, as he too turns to face the two newcomers.

“Mother.” He says. “Father.” He lowers his eyes.

Phineas' jaw clenches as he itches to take a hold of Phillip's trembling hands, but he's not sure how Phillip will react to it.

“This is P.T Barnum.” Phillip looks briefly at Phineas, who recognizes the fear in his lover's eyes.

“From the circus, yes we know.” Carlyle Sr says, his tone derisive. “You're the man who corrupted my son.”

“Father-” Phillip tries, looking up.

“So I see you're still parading yourself, Phillip.” The severe looking man says. “I've been told you're even a part of the freak show now.”

“They're not-”

“When will you stop this nonsense and come home, Phillip?” His mother asks with an ugly scorn.

“Mother, I'm not coming home.” Phillip says quietly. “I'm happy where I am now.”

Carlyle Sr sneers.

“Now you listen here, you ungrateful child.” Phillip inhales sharply at the tone. “You have already lost your inheritance, but I assure you there are worse things that can happen to you.”

Phillip whimpers in the back of his throat, and barely registers Phineas stepping in front of him protectively.

“Now _you_ listen to _me._ ” Phineas growls, furious. “If you ever touch Phillip again, if you ever so much as talk to him, or _think_ of him, I will make your lives a living hell, until you wish you were dead. Then perhaps I will take pity on your pathetic selves, and send you to the fiery pits myself.”

Phineas doesn't wait to hear an answer, he spins around, and sees Phillip looking at him, his blue eyes conveying shocked awe and infinite gratitude.

“Are you okay, darling?” Phineas asks softly, his hand coming to cup Phillip's pale cheek, not caring about the twin gasps he hears behind him.

“Can we just go?” Phillip whispers, a hint of tremble in his voice.

Phineas nods, places his hand on Phillip's back, and starts guiding him down the stairs.

“How's your back, _boy_?” Phillip's father calls out.

Phillip flinches with a small whine. Phineas sees red, and marches back up the few stairs they'd descended, towards the smirking face of the Carlyle patriarch.

Phineas punches him straight in the face.

Mrs Carlyle shrieks, and takes a step back, staring at her fallen husband. Phineas walks back down to his wide eyed lover, his anger still palpating under his fist.

“Come on,” Phineas says sweetly, as if he hasn't just probably broken another man's jaw, “Let's go home.”

Phillip can only gape, as he is guided to a carriage.

 

-

 

The next time Phillip hears about his parents, is around 4 months later. Well, not much hear from them so much as he reads the newspaper's headline:

<<Head of the Carlyle estate dies from a stroke at 74.>>

Phineas asks Phillip if he's alright. After a moment's pause, Phillip just smiles and adds that yes, he is. He feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He throws himself in Phineas' arms and kisses him.

 

-

 

A month later, right after the curtain falls in front of them, ending the show, Phineas fishes out a small velvet box from his Ringmaster coat, gets down on one knee and asks Phillip to marry him. He knows it's informal, and only for them – and the other Circus inhabitants – but he is starting to worry by the following silence that Phillip doesn't like the idea. Getting an armful of Phillip quickly eases his concern. He thinks he hears Anne and Lettie cheer the loudest.

 

-

 

A year after the rebuilding of their Circus, the whole family is celebrating in the main tent, whiskey and beer flying around, songs being sung with a slur, and dances being danced with a stumble. Phillip has never been happier in his life than he has been this past year, and reminds his other half, his soulmate, his _husband_ of it again. Phineas repeats the words he'd said on the boat, as he so often does, making Phillip blush beautifully every time. They join hands, fingers interlacing each other, golden wedding rings shining in the dim light.

They share a love filled kiss, under the usual whistles of the Circus family and Charity, Caroline and Helen giggling.

 

“I love you, Phin.”

“I love you, Flip.”

 


End file.
